Full text of "The adventures of Oliver Twist"

DICKENS.

THE ADVENTURES

CHARLES DICKENS.

WITH TWENTY-EIGHT ILLUSTRATIONS BY J. MAHONEY.

NEW YORK:

HARPER & BROTHERS, PUBLISHERS,

FRANKLIN SQUARE.
1872.

PREFACE.

ONCE upon a time it was held to be a coarse and shocking circumstance, that some of the characters
in these pages are chosen from the most criminal and degraded of London's population.

As I saw no reason, when I wrote this book, why the dregs of life (so long as their speech did not
offend the ear) should not serve the purpose of a moral, as well as its froth and cream, I made bold to
believe that this same Once upon a time would not prove to be All-time or even a long time. I saw
many strong reasons for pursuing my course. I had read of thieves by scores ; seductive fellows (amia
ble for the most part), faultless in dress, plump in pocket, choice in horse-flesh, bold in bearing, fortunate
in gallantry, great at a song, a bottle, pack of cards or dice-box, and fit companions for the bravest. But
I had never met (except in HOGARTH) with the miserable reality. It appeared to me that to draw a
knot of such associates in crime as really did exist ; to paint them in all their deformity, in all their
wretchedness, in all the squalid misery of their lives ; to show them as they really were, forever skulking
uneasily through the dirtiest paths of life, with the great black ghastly gallows closing up their prospect,
turn them where they might ; it appeared to me that to do this would be to attempt a something which
was needed, and which would be a service to society. And I did it as I best could.

In every book I know, where such characters are treated of, allurements and fascinations are thrown
around them. Even in the Beggars' Opera, the thieves are represented as leading a life which is rather
to be envied than otherwise : while MACHEATH, with all the captivations of command, and the devotion
of the most beautiful girl and only pure character in the piece, is as much to be admired and emulated
by weak beholders, as any fine gentleman in a red coat who has purchased, as VOLTAIRE says, the right
to command a couple of thousand men, or so, and to affront death at their head. Johnson's question,
whether any man will turn thief because Macheath is reprieved, seems to me beside the matter. I ask
myself, whether any man will be deterred from turning thief because of Macheath's being sentenced to
death, and because of the existence of Peachum and Lockit ; and remembering the captain's roaring life,
great appearance, vast success, and strong advantages, I feel assured that nobody having a bent that way
will take any warning from him, or will see any thing in the play but a flowery and pleasant road, con
ducting an honorable ambition in course of time to Tyburn Tree.

In fact, Gay's witty satire on society had a general object, which made him quite regardless of example
in this respect, and gave him other and wider aims. The same may be said of Sir Edward Bulwer's
admirable and powerful novel of Paul Clifford, which can not be fairly considered as having, or as being
intended to have, any bearing on this part of the subject, one way or other.

What manner of life is that which is described in these pages, as the every-day existence of a Thief?
What charms has it for the young and ill-disposed, what allurements for the most jolter-headed of juve
niles ? Here are no canterings on moonlit heaths, no merry-makings in the snuggest of all possible cav
erns, none of the attractions of dress, no embroidery, no lace, no jack-boots, no crimson coats and ruffles,
none of the dash and freedom with which " the road " has been time out of mind invested. The cold,
wet, shelterless midnight streets of London ; the foul and frowzy dens, where vice is closely packed and
lacks the room to turn ; the haunts of hunger and disease ; the shabby rags that scarcely hold together ;
where are the attractions of these things ?

There are people, however, of so refined and delicate a nature, that they can not bear the contemplation
of such horrors. Not that they turn instinctively from crime ; but that criminal characters, to suit them,
must be, like their meat, in delicate disguise. A Massaroni in green velvet is an enchanting creature ;

8 PREFACE.

but a Sikes in fustian is insupportable. A Mrs. Massaroni, being a lady in short petticoats and a fancy
dress, is a thing to imitate in tableaux and have in lithograph on pretty songs ; but a Nancy, being a
creature in a cotton gown and cheap shawl, is not to be thought of. It is wonderful how Virtue turns
from dirty stockings ; and how Vice, married to ribbons and a little gay attire, changes her name, as
wedded ladies do, and becomes Romance.

But as the stern truth, even in the dress of this (in novels) much exalted race, was a part of the purpose
of this book, I did not, for these readers, abate one hole in the Dodger's coat, or one scrap of curl-paper
in Nancy's disheveled hair. I had no faith in the delicacy which could not bear to look upon them. I
had no desire to make proselytes among such people. I had no respect for their opinion, good or bad ;
did not covet their approval ; and did not write for their amusement.

It has been observed of Nancy that her devotion to the brutal house-breaker does not seem natural.
And it has been objected to Sikes in the same breath with some inconsistency, as I venture to think
that he is surely overdrawn, because in him there would appear to be none of those redeeming traits
which are objected to as unnatural in his mistress. Of the latter objection I will merely remark, that I
fear there are in the world some insensible and callous natures, that do become utterly and incurably bad.
Whether this be so or not, of one thing I am certain : that there are such men as Sikes, who, being closely
followed through the same space of time and through the same current of circumstances, would not give,
by the action of a moment, the faintest indication of a better nature. Whether every gentler human
feeling is dead within such bosoms, or the proper chord to strike has rusted and is hard to find, I do not
pretend to know ; but that the fact is as I state it, I am sure.

It is useless to discuss whether the conduct and character of the girl seems natural or unnatural, prob
able or improbable, right or wrong. IT is TRUE. Every man who has watched these melancholy shades
of life, must know it to be so. From the first introduction of that poor wretch, to her laying her blood
stained head upon the robber's breast, there is not a word exaggerated or overwrought. It is emphat
ically God's truth, for it is the truth He leaves in such depraved and miserable breasts ; the hope yet
lingering there ; the last fair drop of water at the bottom of the weed-choked well. It involves the best
and worst shades of our nature ; much of its ugliest hues, and something of its most beautiful ; it is a
contradiction, an anomaly, an apparent impossibility ; but it is a truth. I am glad to have had it doubt
ed, for in that circumstance I should find a sufficient assurance (if I wanted any) that it needed to be told.

In the year one thousand eight hundred and fifty, it was publicly declared in London by an amazing
Alderman, that Jacob's Island did not exist, and never had existed. Jacob's Island continues to exist
(like an ill-bred place as it is) in the year one thousand eight hundred and sixty-seven, though improved
and much changed.

OLIVER TWIST.

CHAPTER I.

TREATS OF THE PLACE WHERE OLIVER TWIST WAS BORN,
AND OF THE CIRCUMSTANCES ATTENDING HIS BIRTH.

4 MONO other public buildings in a certain town,
X\_ which for many reasons it will be prudent to
refrain from mentioning, and to which I will assign
no fictitious name, there is one anciently common to
most towns, great or small : to wit, a work-house ;
and in this work-house was born on a day and date
which I need not trouble myself to repeat, inasmuch
as it can be of no possible consequence .to the reader,
in this stage of the business at all events the item
of mortality whose name is prefixed to the head of
this chapter.

For a long time after it was ushered into this
world of sorrow and trouble, by the parish surgeon,
it remained a matter of considerable doubt whether
the child would survive to bear any name at all ; in
which case it is somewhat more than probable that
these memoirs would never have appeared ; or, if

they had, that being comprised within a couple of
pages, they would have possessed the inestimable
merit of being the most concise and faithful speci
men of biography extant in the literature of any age
or country.

Although I am not disposed to maintain that the
being born in a work-house, is in itself the most for
tunate and enviable circumstance that can possibly
befall a human being, I do mean to say that in this
particular instance, it was the best thing for Ol
iver Twist that could by possibility have occurred.
The fact is, that there was considerable difficulty in
inducing Oliver to take upon himself the office of
respiration, a troublesome practice, but one which
custom has rendered necessary to our easy existence ;
and for some time he lay gasping on a little flock
mattress, rather unequally poised between this world
and the next : the balance being decidedly in favor
of the latter. Now, if, during this brief period, Ol
iver had been surrounded by careful grandmothers,
anxious aunts, experienced nurses, and doctors of

OLIVER TWIST.

profound wisdom, he would most inevitably and in
dubitably have been killed in no time. There being
nobody by, however, but a pauper old woman, who
was rendered rather misty by an unwonted allow
ance of beer; and a parish surgeon who did such
matters by contract ; Oliver and Nature fought out
the point between them. The result was, that, after
a few struggles, Oliver breathed, sneezed, and pro
ceeded to advertise to the inmates of the work-house
the fact of a new burden having been imposed upon
the parish, by setting up as loud a cry as could rea
sonably have been expected from a male infant who
had not been possessed of that very useful append
age, a voice, for a much longer space of time than
three minutes and a quarter.

As Oliver gave this first proof of the free and
proper action of his lungs, the patchwork coverlet
which was carelessly flung over the iron bedstead,
rustled ; the pale face of a young woman was raised
feebly from the pillow ; and a faint voice imperfect
ly articulated the words, " Let me see the child, and
die."

The surgeon had been sitting with his face turned
toward the fire: giving the palms of his hands a
warm and a rub alternately. As the young woman
spoke, he rose, and advancing to the bed's head, said,
with more kindness than might have been expected
of him :

" Oh, you must not talk about dying yet."

"Lor bless her dear heart, no!" interposed the
nurse, hastily depositing in her pocket a green glass
bottle, the contents of which she had been tasting in
a corner with evident satisfaction. " Lor bless her
dear heart, when she has lived as long as I have, sir,
and had thirteen children of her own, and all on 'em
dead except two, and them in the wurkus with me,
she'll know better than to take on in that way, bless
her dear heart ! Think what it is to be a mother,
there's a dear young lamb, do."

Apparently this consolatory perspective of a moth
er's prospects failed in producing its due effect. The
patient shook her head, and stretched out her hand
toward the child.

The surgeon deposited it in her arms. She im
printed her cold white lips passionately on its fore
head ; passed her hands over her face ; gazed wild
ly round; shuddered; fell back and died. They
chafed her breast, hands, and temples ; but the blood
had stopped forever. They talked of hope and com
fort. They had been strangers too long.

" It's all over, Mrs. Thingummy !" said the surgeon
at last.

" Ah, poor dear, so it is !" said the nurse, picking
up the cork of the green bottle, which had fallen out
on the pillow, as she stooped to take up the child.
"Poor dear!"

" You needn't mind sending up to me, if the child
cries, nurse," said the surgeon, putting on his gloves
with great deliberation. " It's very likely it will be
troublesome. Give it a little gruel if it is." He put
on his hat, and, pausing by the bedside on his way
to the door, added, " She was a good-looking girl,
too ; where did she come from ?"

" She was brought here last night," replied the old
woman, "by the overseer's order. She was found
lying in the street. She had walked some distance,

for her shoes were worn to pieces ; but where she
came from, or where she was going to, nobody
knows."

The surgeon leaned over the body, and raised the
left hand. " The old story," he said, shaking his
head : " no wedding-ring, I see. Ah ! Good-night !"

The medical gentleman walked away to dinner;
and the nurse, having once more applied herself to
the green bottle, sat down on a low chair before the
fire, and proceeded to dress the infant.

What an excellent example of the power of dress,
young Oliver Twist was ! Wrapped in the blanket
which had hitherto formed his only covering, he
might have been the child of a nobleman or a beg
gar; it would have been hard for the haughtiest
stranger to have assigned him his proper station in
society. But now that he was enveloped in the old
calico robes which had grown yellow in the same
service, he was badged and ticketed, and fell into his
place at once a parish child the orphan of a work
house the humble, half-starved drudge to be cuft-
cd and buffeted through the world despised by all,
and pitied by none.

Oliver cried lustily. If he could have known that
ho \vns an orphan, left to the tender mercies of church
wardens and overseers, perhaps he would have cried
the louder.

CHAPTER II.

TREATS OF OLIVER TWIST'S GROWTH, EDUCATION, AND
BOARD.

FOR the next eight or ten months, Oliver was the
victim of a systematic course of treachery and
deception. He was brought up by hand. The hun
gry and destitute situation of the infant orphan was
duly reported by the work-house authorities to the
parish authorities. The parish authorities inquired
with dignity of the work-house authorities whether
there was no female then domiciled " in the house "
who was in a situation to impart to Oliver Twist the
consolation and nourishment of which he stood in
need. The work-house authorities replied with hu
mility, that there was not. Upon this, the parish au
thorities magnanimously and humanely resolved that
Oliver should be " farmed," or, in other words, that
he should be dispatched to a branch work-house some
three miles off, where twenty or thirty other juvenile
offenders against the poor-laws, rolled about the floor
all day, without the inconvenience of too much food
or too much clothing, under the parental superin
tendence of an elderly female, who received the cul
prits at and for the consideration of sevenpence-half-
penny per small head per week. Sevenpence-half-
penny's worth per week is a good round diet for a
child ; a great deal may be got for sevenpence-half-
penny, quite enough to overload its stomach, and
make it uncomfortable. The elderly female was a
woman of wisdom and experience ; she knew what
was good for children ; and she had a very accurate
perception of what was good for herself. So she ap
propriated the greater part of the weekly stipend to
her own use, and consigned the rising parochial gen
eration to even a shorter allowance than was orig
inally provided for them. Thereby finding in the

STARVATION OF THE HERO.

lowest depth a deeper still ; and proving herself a
very great experimental philosopher.

Every body knows the story of another experi
mental philosopher who had a great theory about a
horse being able to live without eating, and who
demonstrated it so well, that he 'got his own horse
down to a straw a day, and would unquestionably
have rendered him a very spirited and rampacious
animal on nothing at all, if he had not died, four-
and-twenty hours before he was to have had his first
comfortable bait of air. Unfortunately for the ex
perimental philosophy of the female to whose pro
tecting care Oliver Twist was delivered over, a sim
ilar result usually attended the operation of her sys
tem ; for at the very moment when a child had con
trived to exist upon the smallest possible portion of
the weakest possible food, it did perversely happen
in eight and a half cases out of ten, either that it
sickened from want or cold, or fell into the fire from
neglect, or got half-smothered by accident; in any
one of which cases, the miserable little being was
usually summoned into another world, and there
gathered to the fathers it had never known in this.

Occasionally, when there was some more than
usually interesting inquest upon a parish child, who
had been overlooked in turning up a bedstead, or in
advertently scalded to death when there happened
to be a washing though the latter accident was
very scarce, any thing approaching to a washing be
ing of rare occurrence in the farm the jury would
take it into their heads to ask troublesome ques
tions, or the parishioners would rebelliously affix
their signatures to a remonstrance. But these im
pertinences were speedily checked by the evidence
of the surgeon, and the testimony of the beadle ; the
former of whom had always opened the body and
found nothing inside (which was very probable in
deed), and the latter of whom invariably swore what
ever the parish wanted ; which was very self-devo
tional. Besides, the board made periodical pilgrim
ages to the farm, and always sent the beadle the day
before, to say they were going. The children were
neat and clean to behold when they went ; and what
more would the people have !

It can not be expected that this system of farming
would produce any very extraordinary or luxuriant
crop. Oliver Twist's ninth birthday found him a
pale, thin child, somewhat diminutive in stature, and
decidedly small in circumference. But nature or in
heritance had implanted a good sturdy spirit in Oli
ver's breast. It had had plenty room to expand,
thanks to the spare diet of the establishment ; and
perhaps to this circumstance may be attributed his
having any ninth birthday at all. Be this as it may,
however, it was his ninth birthday ; and he was keep
ing it in the coal-cellar with a select party of two
other young gentlemen, Avho, after participating with
him in a sound thrashing, had been locked up for
atrociously presuming to be hungry, when Mrs. Mann,
the good lady of the house, was unexpectedly start
led by the apparition of Mr. Bumble, the beadle,
striving to undo the wicket of the garden-gate.

"Goodness gracious! Is that you, Mr. Bumble,
sir ?" said Mrs. Mann, thrusting her head out of the
window in well-affected ecstasies of joy. " (Susan,
take Oliver and them two brats up stairs and wash

'em directly.) My heart alive! Mr. Bumble, how
glad I am to see you, sure-ly !"

Now, Mr. Bumble was a fat man, and a choleric ;
so, instead of responding to this open-hearted salu
tation in a kindred spirit, he gave the little wicket
a tremendous shake, and then bestowed upon it a
kick which could have emanated from no leg but a
beadle's.

" Lor, only think," said Mrs. Mann, running out,
for the three boys had been removed by this time,
" only think of that ! That I should have forgotten
that the gate was bolted on the inside, on account
of them dear children ! Walk in, sir ; walk in pray,
Mr. Bumble, do, sir."

Although this invitation was accompanied with a
courtesy that might have softened the heart of a
church- warden, it by no means mollified the beadle.

" Do you think this respectful or proper conduct,
Mrs. Mann," inquired Mr. Bumble, grasping his cane,
" to keep the parish officers a-waiting at your gar
den-gate, when they come here upon porochial busi
ness connected with the porochial orphans? Are
you aweer, Mrs. Mann, that you are, as I may say, a
porochial delegate, and a stipendiary ?"

" I'm sure, Mr. Bumble, that I was only a-telling
one or two of the dear children as is so fond of you,
that it was you a-coming," replied Mrs. Mann, with
great humility.

Mr. Bumble had a great idea of his oratorical pow
ers and his importance. He had displayed the one,
and vindicated the other. He relaxed.

" Well, well, Mrs. Mann," he replied, in a calmer
tone ; " it may be as you say ; it may be. Lead the
way in, Mrs. Mann, for I come on business, and have
something to say."

Mrs. Mann ushered the beadle into a small parlor
with a brick floor ; placed a seat for bim ; and offi
ciously deposited his cocked hat and cane on the ta
ble before him. Mr. Bumble wiped from his fore
head the perspiration which his walk had engender
ed, glanced complacently at the cocked hat, and
smiled. Yes, he smiled. Beadles are but men : and
Mr. Bumble smiled.

" Now don't you be offended at what I'm a-going
to say," observed Mrs. Mann, with a captivating
sweetness. " You've had a long walk, you know, or
I wouldn't mention it. Now, will you take a little
drop of somethink, Mr. Bumble."

" Not a drop. Not a drop," said Mr. Bumble,
waving his right hand in a dignified, but placid
manner.

" I think yon will," said Mrs. Mann, who had no
ticed the tone of the refusal, and the gesture that
had accompanied it. " Just a leetle drop, with a lit
tle cold water, and a lump of sugar."

Mr. Bumble 'coughed.

"Now, just a leetle drop," said Mrs. Mann, persua
sively.

" What is it ?" inquired the beadle.

" Why, it's what I'm obliged to keep a little of in
the house, to put into the blessed infants' Daffy, when
they ain't well, Mr. Bumble," replied Mrs. Mann, as
she opened a corner cupboard and took down a bot
tle and glass. " It's gin. I'll not deceive you, Mr.
B. It's gin."

" Do you give the children Daffy, Mrs. Mann ?" in-

OLIVER TWIST.

quired Bumble, following with his eyes the interest
ing process of mixing.

" Ah, bless 'em, that I do, dear as it is," replied the
nurse. "I couldn't see 'em suffer before my very
eyes, you know, sir."

"No," said Mr. Bumble, approvingly; "no, you
could not. You are a humane woman, Mrs. Mann."
(Here she set down the glass.) "I shall take a
early opportunity of mentioning it to the board, Mrs.
Mann." (He drew it toward him.) "You feel as a
mother, Mrs. Mann." (He stirred the gin-and-wa-
ter.) " I I drink your health with cheerfulness,
Mrs. Maun ;" and he swallowed half of it.

" And now about business," said the beadle, tak
ing out a leathern pocket-book. "The child that
was half-baptized Oliver Twist, is nine year old to
day."

" Bless him !" interposed Mrs. Mann, inflaming her
left eye with the corner of her apron.

"And notwithstanding a offered reward of ten
pound, which was afterward increased to twenty
pound. Notwithstanding the most superlative, and,
I may say, supernat'ral exertions on the part of this
parish," said Bumble, " we have never been able to
discover who is his father, or what w r as his mother's
settlemept, name, or con dition."

Mrs. Mann raised her hands in astonishment ; but
added, after a moment's reflection, " How comes he
to have any name at all, then ?"

The beadle drew himself up with great pride, and
said, " I iuwented it."

" You, Mr. Bumble !"

" I, Mrs. Mann. We name our foundlings in al
phabetical order. The last was a S Swubble, I
named him. This was a T Twist, I named Mm.
The next one as comes will be Unwin, and the next
Vilkins. I have got names ready made to the end
of the alphabet, and all the way through it again,
when we come to Z."

" Why, you are quite a literary character, sir !" said
Mrs. Mann.

"Well, well," said the beadle, evidently gratified
with the compliment ; " perhaps I may be. ferhaps
I may be, Mrs. Mann." He finished the gin-and-wa-
ter, and added, " Oliver being now too old to remain
here, the board have determined to have him back
into the house. I have come out myself to take him
there. So let me see him at once."

" I'll fetch him directly," said Mrs. Mann, leaving
the room for that purpose. Oliver, having had by
this time as much of the outer coat of dirt which
incrusted his face and hands, removed, as could be
scrubbed off in one washing, was led into the room
by his benevolent protectress.

" Make a bow to the gentleman, Oliver," said Mrs.
Mann.

Oliver made a bow, which was divided between
the beadle on the chair, and the cocked hat on the
table.

" Will you go along with me, Oliver ?" said Mr.
Bumble, in a majestic voice.

Oliver was about to say that he would go along
with any body with great readiness, when, glancing
upward, he caught sight of Mrs. Mann, who had got
behind the beadle's chair, and was shaking her fist
at him with a furious countenance. He took the

hint at once, for the fist had been too often impress
ed upon his body not to be deeply impressed upon
his recollection.

" Will she go with me ?" inquired poor Oliver.

" No, she can't," replied Mr. Bumble. " But she'll
come and see you sometimes."

This was no very great consolation to the child.
Young as he was, however, he had sense enough to
make a feint of feeling great regret at going away.
It was no very difficult matter for the boy to call
tears into his eyes. Hunger and recent ill-usage are
great assistants if you want to cry ; and Oliver cried
very naturally indeed. Mrs. Mann gave him a thou
sand embraces, and, what Oliver wanted a great deal
more, a piece of bread-and-butter, lest he should si-cm
too hungry when he got to the work-house. With
the slice of bread in his hand, and the little brown-
cloth parish cap on his head, Oliver was then led
away by Mr. Bumble from the wretched home Avhcrr
one kind word or look had never lighted the gloom
of his infant years. And yet he burst into an agony
of childish grief, as the cottage-gate closed after him.
Wretched as were the little companions in misery he
was leaving behind, they were the only friends he
had ever known ; and a sense of his loneliness in the
great wide world, sank into the child's heart for the
first time.

Mr. Bumble walked on with long strides ; little
Oliver, firmly grasping his gold - laced cuff, trotted
beside him, inquiring at the end of every quarter of
a mile whether they were " nearly there." To these
interrogations Mr. Bumble returned very brief and
snappish replies; for the temporary blandness which
gin-and-water awakens in some bosoms had by this
time evaporated ; and he was once again a beadle.

Oliver had not been within the walls of the work
house a quarter of an hour, and had scarcely com
pleted the demolition of a second slice of bread,
when Mr. Bumble, who had handed him over to the
care of an old woman, returned ; and, telling him it
was a board night, informed him that the board had
said he was to appear before it forthwith.

. Not having a very clearly defined notion of what
a live board was, Oliver was rather astounded by this
intelligence, and was not quite certain whether he
ought to laugh or cry. He had no time to think
about the matter, however ; for Mr. Bumble gave
him a tap on the head with his cane, to wake him
up : and another oil the back to make him lively :
and bidding him follow, conducted him into a large
whitewashed room, where eight or ten fat gentlemen
were sitting round a table. At the top of the table,
seated in an arm-chair rather higher than the rest,
was a particularly fat gentleman with a very round,
red face.

" Bow to the board," said Bumble. Oliver brush
ed away two or three tears that were lingering in
his eyes ; and seeing no board but the table, fortu
nately bowed to that.

" What's your name, boy ?" said the gentleman in
the high chair.

Oliver was frightened at the sight of so many gen
tlemen, which made him tremble : and the beadle
gave him another tap behind, which made him cry.
These two causes made him answer in a very low
and hesitating voice ; whereupon a gentleman in a

BEFORE THE BOARD.

white waistcoat said he was a fool. Which was a
capital way of raising his spirits, aud putting him
quite at his case.

" Boy," said the gentleman in the high chair, " list
en to me. You know you're an orphan, I suppose ?"

" What's that, sir?" inquired poor Oliver.

" The boy is a fool I thought he was," said the
gentleman in the white waistcoat.

" Hush !" said the gentleman who had spoken first.
" You know you've got no father or mother, and that
you were brought up by the parish, don't you ?"

" Yes, sir," replied Oliver, weeping bitterly.

" What are you crying for ?" inquired the gentle
man in the white waistcoat. And to be sure it was
very extraordinary. What could the boy be crying
for!

" I hope you say your prayers every night," said
another gentleman, in a gruff voice ; " and pray for
the people who feed you and take care of you like
a Christian."

" Yes, sir," stammered the boy. The gentleman
who spoke last was unconsciously right. It would
have been very like a Christian, and a marvelously
good Christian, too, if Oliver had prayed for the peo
ple who fed and took care of Mm. But he hadn't,
because nobody had taught him.

" Well ! You have come here to be educated, and
taught a useful trade," said the red-faced gentleman
in the high chair.

" So you'll begin to pick oakum to-morrow morn
ing at six o'clock," added the surly one in the white
waistcoat.

For the combination of both these blessings in the
one simple process of picking oakum, Oliver bowed
low by the direction of the beadle, and was then hur
ried away to a large ward : where, on a rough, hard
bed, he sobbed himself to sleep. What a noble illus
tration of the tender laws of England ! They let the
paupers go to sleep !

Poor Oliver ! He little thought, as he lay sleeping
in happy unconsciousness of all around him, that the
board had that very day arrived at a decision which
would exercise the most material influence over all
his future fortunes. But they had. And this was
it:

The members of this board were very sage, deep,
philosophical men ; and Avhen they came to turn
their attention to the work-house, they found out at
once, what ordinary folks would never have discov
ered the poor people liked it! It was a regular
place of public entertainment for the poorer classes;
a tavern where there was nothing to pay ; a public
breakfast, dinner, tea, and supper, all the year round ;
a brick and mortar elysium, where it was all play
and no work. " Oho !" said the board, looking very
knowing ; " we are the fellows to set this to rights ;
we'll stop it all, in no time." So, they established
the rule, that all poor people should have the alter
native (for they would compel nobody, not they), of
being starved by a gradual process in the house, or
by a quick one out of it. With this view, they con
tracted with the water-works to lay on an unlimited
supply of water ; and with a corn-factor to supply
periodically small quantities of oatmeal ; and issued
three meals of thin gruel a day, with an onion twice
a week, and half a roll on Sundays. They made a

great many other wise and humane regulations, hav
ing reference to the ladies, which it is not necessary
to repeat ; kindly undertook to divorce poor married
people, in consequence of the great expense of a suit
in Doctors' Commons ; and, instead of compelling a
man to support his family, as they had theretofore
done, took his family away from him, and made him
a bachelor! There is no saying how many appli
cants for relief, under these last two heads, might
have started up in all classes of society, if it had not
been coupled with the work-house; but the board
were long - headed men, and had provided for this
difficulty. The relief was inseparable from the
work-house and the gruel ; and that frightened peo
ple.

For the first six months after Oliver Twist was
removed, the system was in full operation. It was
rather expensive at first, in consequence of the in
crease in the undertaker's bill, and the necessity of
taking in the clothes of all the paupers, which flut
tered loosely on their wasted, shrunken forms, after
a week or two's gruel. But the number of work
house inmates got thin as well as the paupers ; and
the board were in ecstasies.

The room in which the boys were fed was a large
stone hall, with a copper at one end ; out of which
the master, dressed in an apron for the purpose, and
assisted by one or two women, ladled the gruel at
meal - times. Of this festive composition each boy
had one porringer, and no more except on occa
sions of great public rejoicing, when he had two
ounces and a quarter of bread besides. The bowls
never wanted washing. The boys polished them
with their spoons till they shone again ; and when
they had performed this operation (which never
took very long, the spoons being nearly as large as
the bowls), they would sit staring at the copper,
with such eager eyes, as if they could have devoured
the very bricks of which it was composed ; employ
ing themselves, meanwhile, in sucking their fingers
most assiduously, with the view of catching up any
stray splashes of gruel that might have been cast
thereon. Boys have generally excellent appetites.
Oliver Twist and his companions suffered the tor
tures of slow starvation for three months: at last
they got so voracious and wild with hunger, that
one boy, who was tall for his age, and hadn't been
used to that sort of thing (for his father had kept a
small cook-shop), hinted darkly to his companions,
that unless he had another basin of gruel per diem,
he was afraid he might some night happen to eat
the boy who slept next him, who happened to be a
weakly youth of tender age. He had a wild, hungry
eye; and they implicitly believed him. A council
was held ; lots were cast who should walk up to the
master after supper that evening, and ask for more ;
and it fell to Oliver Twist.

The evening arrived ; the boys took their places.
The master, in his cook's uniform, stationed himself
at the copper; his pauper assistants ranged them
selves behind him ; the gruel was served out ; and a
long grace was said over the short commons. The
gruel disappeared; the boys whispered each other,
and winked at Oliver ; while his next neighbors
nudged him. Child as he was, he was desperate
I with hunger, and reckless with misery. He rose

OLIVER TWIST.

from the table ; and advancing to the master, basin
and spoon in hand, said, somewhat alarmed at his
owu temerity :

" Please, sir, I want some more."

The master was a fat, healthy man ; but he turned
very pale. He gazed in stupefied astonishment on
the small rebel for some seconds, and then clung for
support to the copper. The assistants were para
lyzed with wonder ; the boys with fear.

"What!" said the master at length, in a faint
voice.

" Please, sir," replied Oliver, " I want some more."

The master aimed a blow at Oliver's head with the
ladle ; pinioned him in his arms ; and shrieked aloud
for the beadle.

The board were sitting in solemn conclave, when
Mr. Bumble rushed into the room in great excite
ment, and addressing the gentleman in the high
chair, said,

"Mr. Limbkius, I beg your pardon, sir! Oliver
Twist has asked for more."

There was a general start. Horror was depicted
on every countenance.

" For more !" said Mr. Limbkins. " Compose your
self, Bumble, and answer me distinctly. Do I under
stand that he asked for more, after he had eaten the
supper allotted by the dietary ?"

" He did, sir," replied Bumble.

" That boy will be hung," said the gentleman in
the white waistcoat. "I know that boy will be
hung."

Nobody controverted the prophetic gentleman's
opinion. An animated discussion took place. Ol
iver was ordered into instant confinement; and a
bill was next morning pasted on the outside of the
gate, offering a reward of five pounds to any body
who would take Oliver Twist off the hands of the
parish. In other words, five pounds and Oliver
Twist were offered to any man or woman who want
ed an apprentice to any trade, business, or calling.

" I never was more convinced of any thing in my
life," said the gentleman in the white waistcoat, as
he knocked at the gate and read the bill next morn
ing : " I never was more convinced of any thing in
my life, than I am that that boy will come to be
hung."

As I purpose to show in the sequel whether the
white -waistcoated gentleman was right or not, I
should perhaps mar the interest of this narrative
(supposing it to possess any at all), if I ventured to
hint just yet, whether the life of Oliver Twist had
this violent termination or no.

CHAPTER III.

RELATES HOW OLIVER TWIST WAS VERT NEAR GETTING
A PLACE WHICH WOULD NOT HAVE BEEN A SINECURE.

FOR a week after the commission of the impious
and profane offense of asking for more, Oliver
remained a close prisoner in the dark and solitary
room to which he had been consigned by the wis
dom and mercy of the board. It appears, at first
sight, not unreasonable to suppose that, if he had
entertained a becoming feeling of respect for the

prediction of the gentleman in the white waistcoat,
he would have established that sage individual's pro
phetic character, once and forever, by tying one end
of his pocket-handkerchief to a hook in the wall, and
attaching himself to the other. To the performance
of this feat, however, there was one obstacle ; name
ly, that pocket-handkerchiefs being decided articles
of luxury, had been, for all future times and ages,
removed from the noses of paupers by the express
order of the board, in council assembled : solemnly
given and pronounced under their hands and seals.
There was a still greater obstacle in Oliver's youth
and childishness. He only cried bitterly all day;
and, when the long, dismal night came on, spread his
little hands before bis eyes to shut out the darkness,
and crouching in the corner, tried to sleep : ever and
anon waking with a start and tremble, and drawing
himself closer and closer to the wall, as if to feel
even its cold hard surface were a protection in the
gloom and loneliness which surrounded him.

Let it not be supposed by the enemies of "the
system," that, during the period of his solitary in
carceration, Oliver was denied the benefit of exer
cise, the pleasure of society, or the advantages of re
ligious consolation. As for exercise, it was nice cold
weather, and he was allowed to perform his ablu
tions every morning under the pump, in a stone
yard, in the presence of Mr. Bumble, who prevented
his catching cold, and caused a tingling sensation to
pervade his frame, by repeated applications of the
cane. As for society, he was carried every other day
into the hall where the boys dined, and there socia
bly flogged as a public warning and example. And
so far from being denied the advantages of religious
consolation, he was kicked into the same apartment
every evening at prayer-time, and there permitted to
listen to, and console his mind with, a general suppli
cation of the boys, containing a special clause, there
in inserted by authority of the board, in which they
entreated to be made good, virtuous, contented, and
obedient, and to be guarded from the sins and vices
of Oliver Twist: whom the supplication distinctly
set forth to be under the exclusive patronage and
protection of the powers of wickedness, and an arti
cle direct from the manufactory of the very Devil
himself.

It chanced one morning, while Oliver's affairs
were in this auspicious and comfortable state, that
Mr. Gamfield, chimney-sweep, went his way down
the High Street, deeply cogitating in his mind his
ways and means of paying certain arrears of rent,
for which his landlord had become rather pressing.
Mr. Gamfield's most sanguine estimate of his finances
could not raise them within full five pounds of the
desired amount ; and, in a species of arithmetical
desperation, he was alternately cudgeling his brains
and his donkey, when, passing the work-house, his
eyes encountered the bill on the gate.

"Wo o !" said Mr. Gamfield to the donkey.

The donkey was in a state of profound abstrac
tion : wondering, probably, whether he was destined
to be regaled with a cabbage-stalk or two when he
had disposed of the two sacks of soot with which the
little cart was laden ; so, without noticing the word
of command, he jogged onward.

Mr. Gamfield growled a fierce imprecation on the

ALMOST APPRENTICED.

donkey generally, but more particularly on his eyes ;
and, running after him, bestowed a blow on Ms head,
which would inevitably have beaten in any skull but
a donkey's. Then, catching hold of the bridle, he
gave his jaw a sharp wrench, by way of gentle re
minder that he was not his own master; and by
these means turned him round. He then gave him
another blow on the head, just to stun him till he
came back again. Having completed these arrange
ments, he walked up to the gate, to read the bill.

The gentleman with the white waistcoat was stand
ing at the gate with his hands behind him, after hav
ing delivered himself of some profound sentiments in
the board-room. Having witnessed the little dispute
between Mr. Gamfield and the donkey, he smiled joy
ously when that person came up to read the bill, for
he saw at once that Mr. Gamfield was exactly the
sort of master Oliver Twist wanted. Mr. Gamfield
smiled, too, as he perused the document ; for five
pounds was just the sum he had been wishing for ;
and, as to the boy with which it was incumbered,
Mr. Gamfield, knowing Avhat the dietary of the work
house was, well knew he would be a nice small pat
tern, just the very thing for register stoves. So, he
spelled the bill through again from beginning to end ;
and then, touching his fur cap in token of humility,
accosted the gentleman in the white waistcoat.

" This here boy, sir, wot the parish wants to 'pren-
tis," said Mr. Gamfield.

"Ay, my man," said the gentleman in the white
waistcoat, with a condescending smile. " What of
him ?"

" If the parish vould like him to learn a light pleas
ant trade, in a good 'spectable chimbley-sweepiu' bis-
ness," said Mr. Gamfield, " I wants a 'prentis, and I
am ready to take him."

" Walk in," said the gentleman in the white waist
coat, Mr. Gamfield having lingered behind, to give
the donkey another blow on the head, and another
wrench of the jaw, as a caution not to run away in
his absence, followed the gentleman with the white
waistcoat into the room where Oliver had first seen
him.

" It's a nasty trade," said Mr. Limbkins, when
Gamfield had again stated his wish.

"Young boys have been smothered in chimneys
before now," said another gentleman.

" That's acause they damped the straw afore they
lit it in the chimbley to make 'em come down agin,"
said Gamfield ; " that's all smoke, and no blaze ;
vereas smoke ain't o' no use at all in making a boy
come down, for it only siuds him to sleep, and that's
wot he likes. Boys is wery obstiuit, and wery lazy,
gen'lmen, and there's nothink like a good hot blaze
to make 'em come down vith a run. It's humane
too, gen'lmen, acause, even if they've stuck in the
chimbley, roasting their feet makes 'em struggle to
hextricate theirselves."

The gentleman in the white waistcoat appeared
very much amused by this explanation ; but his
mirth was speedily checked by a look from Mr.
Limbkins. The board then proceeded to converse
among themselves for a few minutes, but in so low a
tone, that the words " saving of expenditure," " look
ed well in the accounts," " have a printed report pub
lished," were alone audible. These only chanced to

be heard, indeed, on account of their being very fre
quently repeated with great emphasis.

At length the whispering ceased; and the mem
bers of the board, having resumed their seats and
their solemnity, Mr. Limbkins said :

" We have considered your proposition, and we
don't approve of it."

"Not at all," said the gentleman in the white
waistcoat.

" Decidedly not," added the other members.

As Mr. Gamfield did happen to labor under the
slight imputation of having bruised three or four
boys to death already, it occurred to him that the
board had, perhaps, in some unaccountable freak,
taken it into their heads that this extraneous circum
stance ought to influence their proceedings. It was
very unlike their general mode of doing business, if
they had ; but still, as he had no particular wish to
revive the rumor, he twisted his cap in his hands,
and walked slowly from the table.

" So you won't let me have him, gen'lmen ?" said
Mr. Gamfield, pausing near the door.

" No," replied Mr. Limbkins ; " at least, as it's a
nasty business, we think you ought to take some
thing less than the premium we oifered."

Mr. Gamfield's countenance brightened, as, with a
quick step, he returned to the table, and said,

" What'll you give, gen'lmen ? Come ! Don't be
too hard on a poor man. What'll you give ?"

" I should say three pound ten was plenty," said
Mr. Limbkins.

" Ten shillings too much," said the gentleman in
the white waistcoat.

" Come !" said Gamfield ; " say four pound, gen'l
men. Say four pound, and you've got rid on him for
good and all. There !"

" Three pound ten," repeated Mr. Limbkins, firmly.

" Come ! I'll split the difference, gen'lmen," urged
Gamfield. " Three pound fifteen."

" Not a farthing more," was the firm reply of Mr.
Limbkins.

" You're desperate hard upon me, gen'lmen," said
Gamfield, wavering.

"Pooh! pooh! nonsense!" said the gentleman in
the white waistcoat. " He'd be cheap with nothing
at all, as a premium. Take him, you silly fellow !
He's just the boy for you. He wants the stick, now
and then : it'll do him good ; and his board needn't
come very expensive, for he hasn't been overfed since
he was born. Ha! ha! ha!"

JMr. Gamfield gave an arch look at the faces round
the table, and, observing a smile on all of them, grad
ually broke into a smile himself. The bargain was
made. Mr. Bumble was at once instructed that Oli
ver Twist and his indentures were to be conveyed
before the magistrate, for signature and approval,
that very afternoon.

In pursuance of this determination, little Oliver, to
his excessive astonishment, was released from bond
age, and ordered to put himself into a clean shirt.
He had hardly achieved this very unusual gymnas
tic performance, when Mr. Bumble brought him, with
his own hands, a basin of gruel, and the holiday al
lowance of two ounces and a quarter of bread. At
this tremendous sight, Oliver began to cry very pit-
eously : thinking, not unnaturally, that the board

OLIVER TWIST.

must have determined to kill him for some useful
purpose, or they never would have begun to fatten
him up in that way.

" Don't make your eyes red, Oliver, but eat your
food and be thankful," said Mr. Bumble, in a tone of
impressive pomposity. " You're a going to be made
a 'prentice of, Oliver."

"A 'prentice, sir!" said the child, trembling.

" Yes, Oliver," said Mr. Bumble. " The kind and
blessed gentlemen which is so many parents to you,
Oliver, when you had none of your own, are a going
to 'prentice you, and to set you up in life, and make
a man of you : although the expense to the parish is
three pound ten ! three pound ten, Oliver ! seventy
shillings one hundred and forty sixpences ! and all
for a naughty orphan which nobody can't love."

As Mr. Bumble paused to take breath, after deliv
ering this address in an awful voice, the tears rolled
down the poor child's face, and he sobbed bitterly.

" Come," said Mr. Bumble, somewhat less pompous
ly, for it was gratifying to his feelings to observe the
effect his eloquence had produced ; " come, Oliver !
Wipe your eyes with the cuffs of your jacket, and
don't cry into your gruel ; that's a very foolish ac
tion, Oliver." It certainly was, for there was quite
enough water in it already.

On their way to the magistrate, Mr. Bumble in
structed Oliver that all he would have to do would
be to look very happy, and say, when the gentleman
asked him if he wanted to be apprenticed, that he
should like it very much indeed ; both of which in
junctions Oliver promised to obey: the rather as Mr.
Bumble threw in a gentle hint, that if he failed in
either particular, there was no telling what would
be done to him. When they arrived at the office, he
was shut up in a little room by himself, and admon
ished by Mr. Bumble to stay there, until he came
back to fetch him.

There the boy remained, with a palpitating heart,
for half an hour. At the expiration of which time
Mr. Bumble thrust in his head, unadorned with the
cocked hat, and said aloud :

" Now, Oliver, my dear, come to the gentleman."
As Mr. Bumble said this, he put on a grim and threat
ening look, and added, in a low voice, " Mind Avhat I
told you, you young rascal !"

Oliver stared innocently in Mr. Bumble's face at
this somewhat contradictory style of address ; but
that gentleman prevented his offering any remark
thereupon, by leading him at once into an adjoin
ing room : the door of which was open. It was. a
large room, with a great window. Behind a desk
sat two old gentlemen with powdered heads : one of
whom was reading the newspaper ; while the other
was perusing, with the aid of a pair of tortoise-shell
spectacles, a small piece of parchment which lay be
fore him. Mr. Limbkins was standing in front of
the desk on one side ; and Mr. Gamfield, with a par
tially washed face, on the other; while two or three
bluff-looking men, in top-boots, were lounging about.

The old gentleman with the spectacles gradually
dozed off, over the little bit of parchment ; and there
was a short pause, after Oliver had been stationed by
Mr. Bumble in front of the desk.

" This is the boy, your worship," said Mr. Bumble.

The old gentleman who was reading the newspa

per raised his head for a moment, and pulled the oth
er old gentleman by the sleeve ; whereupon the last-
mentioned old gentleman woke up.

" Oh, is this the boy ?" said the old gentleman.

" This is him, sir," replied Mr. Bumble. " Bow to
the magistrate, my dear."

Oliver roused himself, and made his best obeisance.
He had been wondering, with his eyes fixed on the
magistrates' powder, whether all boards were born
with that white stuff on their heads, and were boards
from thenceforth on that account.

"Well," said the old gentleman, "I suppose he's
fond of chimney-sweeping ?"

" He dotes on it, your worship," replied Bumble ;
giving Oliver a sly pinch, to intimate that he had
better not say he didn't.

" And he will be a sweep, will he ?" inquired the
old gentleman.

" If we was to bind him to any other trade to-mor
row, he'd run away simultaneous, your worship," re
plied Bumble.

" And this man that's to be his master you, sir
you'll treat him well, and feed him, and do all that
sort of thing, will you ?" said the old gentleman.

" When I says I will, I means I will," replied Mr.
Gamfield, doggedly.

" You're a rough speaker, my friend, but you look
an honest, open-hearted man," said the old gentle
man : turning his spectacles in the direction of the
candidate for Oliver's premium, whose villainous
countenance was a regular stamped receipt for cru
elty. But the magistrate was half blind and half
childish, so he couldn't reasonably be expected to
discern what other people did.

" I hope I am, sir," said Mr. Gamfield, with an ugly
leer.

" I have no doubt you are, my friend," replied the
old gentleman, fixing his spectacles more firmly on
his nose, and looking about him for the inkstand.

It was the critical moment of Oliver's fate. If the
inkstand had been where the old gentleman thought
it was, he would have dipped his pen into it, and
signed the indentures, and Oliver would have been
straightway hurried off. But, as it chanced to be
immediately under his nose, it followed, as a matter
of course, that he looked all over his desk for it, with
out finding it ; and happening in the course of his
search to look straight before him, his gaze encoun
tered the pale and terrified face of Oliver T\vist :
who, despite all the admonitory looks and pinches of
Bumble, was regarding the repulsive countenance
of his future master, with a mingled expression of
horror and fear, too palpable to be mistaken, even by
a half-blind magistrate.

The old gentleman stopped, laid down his pen, and
looked from Oliver to Mr. Limbkins ; who attempted
to take snuff with a cheerful and unconcerned aspect.

"My boy!" said the old gentleman, leaning over
the desk. Oliver started at the sound. He might
be excused for doing so : for the words were kindly
said; and strange sounds frighten one. He trembled
violently, and burst into tears.

" My boy !" said the old gentleman, " you look pale
and alarmed. What is the matter ?"

" Stand a little away from him, Beadle," said the
other magistrate : laying aside the paper, and lean-

ANOTHER PLACE OFFERS.

iug forward with aii expression of interest. " Now,
boy, tell us what's the matter : don't be afraid."

Oliver fell on his knees, and clasping his hands to
gether, prayed that they would order him back to the
dark room that they would starve him beat him
kill him, if they pleased rather than send him
away with that dreadful man.

" Well !" said Mr. Bumble, raising his hands and
eyes with most impressive solemnity. " Well ! of all
the artful and designing orphans that ever I see,
Oliver, you are one of the most barcfacedest."

" Hold your tongue, Beadle," said the second old
gentleman, when Mr. Bumble had given vent to this
compound adjective.

" I beg your worship's pardon," said Mr. Bumble,
incredulous of his having heard aright. " Did your
worship speak to me ?"

" Yes. Hold your tongue."

Mr. Bumble was stupefied with astonishment. A
beadle ordered to hold his tongue ! A moral revolu
tion!

The old gentleman in the tortoise-shell spectacles
looked at his companion, he nodded significantly.

" We refuse to sanction these indentures," said the
old gentleman : tossing aside the piece of parchment
as he spoke.

" I hope," stammered Mr. Limbkins : " I hope the
magistrates will not form the opinion that the au
thorities have been guilty of any improper conduct,
on the unsupported testimony of a mere child."

" The magistrates are not called upon to pronounce
any opinion on the matter," said the second old gen
tleman sharply. " Take the boy back to the work
house, and treat him kindly. He seems to want it."

That same evening, the gentleman in the white
waistcoat most positively and decidedly affirmed,
not only that Oliver would be hung, but that he
would be drawn and quartered into the bargain.
Mr. Bumble shook his head with gloomy mystery,
and said he wished he might come to good ; where-
unto Mr. Gamfield replied, that he wished he might
come to him ; which, although he agreed with the
beadle in most matters, would seem to be a wish of
a totally opposite description.

The next morning, the public were once more in
formed that Oliver Twist was again To Let, and that
five pounds would be paid to auy body who would
take possession of him.

CHAPTER IV.

OLIVER, BEING OFFERED ANOTHER PLACE, MAKES HIS
FIRST ENTRY INTO PUBLIC LIFE.

IN great families, when an advantageous place can
not be obtained, either in possession, reversion, re
mainder, or expectancy, for the young man who is
growing up, it is a very general custom to send him
to sea. The board, in imitation of so wise and salu
tary an example, took counsel together on the expe
diency of shipping off Oliver Twist in some small
trailing vessel bound to a good unhealthy port. This
suggested itself as the very best thing that could pos
sibly be done with him ; the probability being that
the skipper would flog him to death, in a playful
B

mood, some day after dinner, or would knock his
brains out with an iron bar ; both pastimes being, as
is pretty generally known, very favorite and common
recreations among gentlemen of that class. The
more the case presented itself to the board, in this
point of view, the more manifold the advantages of
the step appeared ; so, they came to the conclusion
that the only way of providing for Oliver effectually,
was to send him to sea without delay.

Mr. Bumble had been dispatched to make various
preliminary inquiries, Avith the view of finding out
some captain or other who wanted a cabin-boy with
out any friends ; and was returning to the work
house to communicate the result of his mission ;
when he encountered at the gate no less a person
than Mr. Sowerberry, the parochial undertaker.

Mr. Sowerberry was a tall, gaunt, large -jointed
man, attired in a suit of threadbare black, with darned
cotton stockings of the same color, and shoes to an
swer. His features were not naturally intended to
wear a smiling aspect, but he was in general rather
given to professional jocosity. His step was elastic,
and his face betokened inward pleasantry, as he ad
vanced to Mr. Bumble, and shook him cordially by
the hand.

" I have taken the measure of the two women that
died last night, Mr. Bumble," said the undertaker.

" You'll make your fortune, Mr. Sowerberry," said
the beadle, as he thrust his thumb and forefinger
into the proffered snuff-box of the undertaker : which
was an ingenious little model of a patent coffin. " I
say you'll make your fortune, Mr. Sowerberry," re
peated Mr. Bumble, tapping the undertaker on the
shoulder, in a friendly manner, with his cane.

" Think so f ' said the undertaker, in a tone which
half admitted and half disputed the probability of
the event. "The prices allowed by the board are
very small, Mr. Bumble."

" So are the coffins," replied the beadle : with pre
cisely as near an approach to a laugh as a great offi
cial ought to indulge in.

Mr. Sowerberry was much tickled at this : as of
course he ought to be ; and laughed a long time
without cessation. "Well, well, Mr. Bumble," he
said at length, " there's no denying that, since the
new system of feeding has come in, the coffins are
something narrower and more shallow than they
used to be ; but we must have some profit, Mr. Bum
ble. Well-seasoned timber is an expensive article,
sir; and all the iron handles come, by canal, from
Birmingham."

" Well, well," said Mr. Bumble, " every trade has
its drawbacks. A fair profit is, of course, allowable."

" Of course, of course," replied the undertaker ;
" and if I don't get a profit upon this or that particu
lar article, why, I make it up in the long run, you
see he! he! he!"

" Just so," said Mr. Bumble.

" Though I must say," continued the undertaker,
resuming the current of observations which the bea
dle had interrupted : " though I must say, Mr. Bum
ble, that I have to contend against one very great
disadvantage : which is, that*all the stout people go
off the quickest. The people who have been better
off, and have paid rates for many years, arc the first
to sink when they come into the house ; and let me

OLIVER TWIST.

tell you, Mr. Bumble, that three or four inches over
one's calculation makes a great hole in one's prof
its : especially when one has a family to provide for,
sir."

As Mr. Sowerberry said this, with the becoming in
dignation of an ill-used man ; and as Mr. Bumble felt
that it rather tended to convey a reflection on the
honor of the parish ; the latter gentleman thought it
advisable to change the subject. Oliver Twist being
uppermost in his mind, he made him his theme.

" By-the-bye," said Mr. Bumble, " you don't know
any body who wants a boy, do you ? A porochial
'prentis, who is at present a dead- weight ; a mill
stone, as I may say; round the porochial throat?
Liberal terms, Mr. Sowerberry, liberal terms !" As

put it on, I remember, for the first time, to attend
the inquest on that reduced tradesman, who died in a
door-way at midnight."

"I recollect," said the undertaker. "The jury
brought it in, ' Died from exposure to the cold, and
want of the common necessaries of life,' didn't they ?"

Mr. Bumble nodded.

"And they made it a special verdict, I think," said
the undertaker, " by adding some words to the effect
that if the relieving officer had

" Tush ! Foolery !" interposed the beadle. " If
the board attended to all the nonsense that ignorant
jurymen talk, they'd have enough to do."

"Very true," said the undertaker; "they would
indeed."

" LIBERAL TERMS, MR. 8OWEHBERRY, LIBERAL TERMS 1"

Mr. Bumble spoke, he raised his cane to the bill above
him, and gave three distinct raps upon the words
" five pounds ;" which were printed thereon in Eo-
man capitals of gigantic size.

" Gadso !" said the undertaker, taking Mr. Bum
ble by the gilt-edged lappel of his official coat;
" that's just the very thing I wanted to speak to you
about. You know dear me, what a very elegant
button this is, Mr. Bumble ! I never noticed it be
fore."

" Yes, I think it is rather pretty," said the beadle,
glancing proudly downward at the large brass but
tons which embellished his coat. "The die is the
same as the porochial seal the Good Samaritan heal
ing the sick and bruised man. The board presented
it to me on New-year's morning, Mr. Sowerberry. I

"Juries," said Mr. Bumble, grasping his cane tight
ly, as was his wont when working into a passion :
"juries is ineddicated, vulgar, groveling wretches."

" So they are," said the undertaker.

"They haven't no more philosophy nor political
economy about 'em than that," said the beadle, snap
ping his fingers contemptuously.

" No more they have," acquiesced the undertaker.

" I despise 'em," said the beadle, growing very red
in the face.

" So do I," rejoined the undertaker.

"And I only wish we'd a jury of the independent
sort in the house for a week or two," said the beadle ;
" the rules and regulations of the board would soon
bring their spirit down for 'em."

" Let 'em alone for that," replied the undertaker.

ANOTHER PLACE OFFERS.

lit

So saying, he smiled approvingly, to calm the rising
wrath of the indignant parish officer.

Mr. Bumble lifted off his cocked hat ; took a hand
kerchief from the inside of the crown ; wiped from
his forehead the perspiration which his rage had en
gendered ; fixed the cocked hat on again ; and, turn
ing to the undertaker, said, in a calmer voice :

" Well ; what about the boy ?"

" Oh !" replied the undertaker ; " why, you know,
Mr. Bumble, I pay a good deal toward the poor's
rates."

" Hem !" said Mr. Bumble. " Well ?"

"Well," replied the undertaker, "I was thinking
that if I pay so much toward 'em, I've a right to get
as much out of 'em as I can, Mr. Bumble ; and so
and so I think I'll take the boy myself."

Mr. Bumble grasped the undertaker by the arm,
and led him into the building. Mr. Sowerberry was
closeted with the board for five minutes, and it was
arranged that Oliver should go to him that evening
" upon liking " a phrase which means, in the case
of a parish apprentice, that if the master find, upon
a short trial, that he can get enough work out of a
boy without putting too much food into him, he shall
have him for a term of years, to do what he likes with.

When little Oliver was taken before " the gentle
men " that evening ; and informed that he was to go,
that night, as general house-lad to a coffin-maker's ;
and that if he complained of his situation, or ever
came back to the parish again, he would be sent to
sea, there to be drowned, or knocked on the head, as
the case might be, he evinced so little emotion, that
they by common consent pronounced him a hardened
young rascal, and ordered Mr. Bumble to remove him
forthwith.

Now, although it was very natural that the board,
of all people in the world, should feel in a great state
of virtuous astonishment and horror at the smallest
tokens of want of feeling on the part of any body,
they were rather out, in this particular instance.
The simple fact was, that Oliver, instead of possess
ing too little feeling, possessed rather too much ; and
was in a fair way of being reduced, for life, to a state
of brutal stupidity and sullenness by the ill-usage he
had received. He heard the news of his destination
in perfect silence ; and, having had his luggage put
into his hand which was not very difficult to carry,
inasmuch as it was all comprised within the limits
of a brown paper parcel, about half a foot square by
three inches deep he pulled his cap over his eyes ;
and once more attaching himself to Mr. Bumble's coat
cuff, was led away by that dignitary to a new scene of
suffering.

For some time, Mr. Bumble drew Oliver along,
without notice or remark ; for the beadle carried his
head very erect, as a beadle always should : and, it
being a windy day, little Oliver was completely en
shrouded by the skirts of Mr. Bumble's coat as they
blew open, and disclosed to great advantage his flap
ped waistcoat and drab plush knee-breeches. As
they drew near to their destination, however, Mr.
Bumble thought it expedient to look down, and see
that the boy was in good order for inspection by his
new master : which he accordingly did, with a tit and
becoming air of gracious patronage.

" Oliver!" said Mr. Bumble.

" Yes, sir," replied Oliver, in a low, tremulous voice.

"Pull that cap off your eyes, and hold up your
head, sir."

Although Oliver did as he was desired, at once,
and passed the back of his unoccupied hand briskly
across his eyes, he left a tear in them when he looked
up at his conductor. As Mr. Bumble gazed sternly
upon him, it rolled down his cheek. It was followed
by another, and another. The child made a strong
effort, but it was an unsuccessful one. Withdrawing
his other hand from Mr. Bumble's, he covered his face
with both ; and wept until the tears sprung out from
between his chin and bony fingers.

" Well !" exclaimed Mr. Bumble, stopping short,
and darting at his little charge a look of intense
malignity. " Well ! Of all the ungratefullest, and
worst - disposed boys as ever I see, Oliver, you are
the"

" No, no, sir," sobbed Oliver, clinging to the hand
which held the well-known cane ; " no, no, sir ; I will
be good indeed ; indeed, indeed I will, sir ! I am a
very little boy, sir ; and it is so so :

" So what ?" inquired Mr. Bumble, in amazement.

" So lonely, sir ! So very lonely !" cried the child.
" Every body hates me. Oh ! sir, don't, don't, pray,
be cross to me !" The child beat his hand upon his
heart ; and looked in his companion's face, with tears
of real agony.

Mr. Bumble regarded Oliver's piteous and helpless
look, with some astonishment, for a few seconds ;
hemmed three or four times in a husky manner ; and
after muttering something about " that troublesome
cough," bade Oliver dry his eyes and be a good boy.
Then once more taking his hand, he walked on with
him in silence.

The undertaker, who had just put up the shutters
of his shop, was making some entries in his day-book
by the light of a most appropriate dismal candle,
when Mr. Bumble entered.

"Aha!" said the undertaker: looking up from the
book, and pausing in the middle of a word ; " is that
you, Bumble ?"

" No one else, Mr. Sowerberry," replied the beadle.
* Here ! I've brought the boy." Oliver made a bow.

" Oh ! that's the boy, is it ?" said the undertaker,
raising the candle above his head, to get a better
view of Oliver. " Mrs. Sowerberry, will yon have
the goodness to come here a moment, my dear ?"

Mrs. Sowerberry emerged from a little room be
hind the shop, and presented the form of a short,
thin, squeezed -up woman, with a A r ixeuish counte
nance.

"My dear," said Mr. Sowerberry, deferentially,
" this is the boy from the work-house that I told you
of." Oliver bowed again.

" Dear me !" said the undertaker's wife, " he's very
small."

" Why, he is rather small," replied Mr. Bumble :
looking at Oliver as if it were his fault that he was
no bigger ; " he is small. There's no denying it. But
he'll grow, Mrs. Sowerberry he'll grow."

"Ah! I dare say he will," replied the lady pettish
ly, " on our victuals and our drink. I see no saving
in parish children, not I ; for they always cost more
to keep than they're worth. However, men always
think they know best. There ! Get down stairs, lit-

OLIVER TWIST.

tie bag o' bones." With this, the undertaker's wife
opened a side door, and pushed Oliver down a steep
flight of stairs into a stone cell, damp and dark :
forming the ante -room to the coal -cellar, and de
nominated "kitchen:" wherein sat a slatternly girl,
in shoes down at heel, and blue worsted stockings
very much out of repair.

" Here, Charlotte," said Mrs. Sowerberry, who had
followed Oliver down, "give this boy some of the
cold bits that were put by for Trip. He hasn't come
home since the morning, so he may go without 'em.
I dare say the boy isn't too dainty to eat 'em are
you, boy ?"

Oliver, whose eyea had glistened at the mention
of meat, and who was trembling with eagerness to
devour it, replied in the negative ; and a plateful of
coarse broken victuals was set before him.

I wish some well-fed philosopher, whose meat and
drink turn to gall within him whose blood is ice,
whose heart is iron could have seen Oliver Twist
clutching at the dainty viands that the dog had neg
lected. I wish he could have witnessed the horrible
avidity with which Oliver tore the bits asunder with
all the ferocity of famine. There is only one thing
I should like better ; and that would be to see the
Philosopher making the same sort of meal himself,
with the same relish.

" Well," said the undertaker's wife, when Oliver
had finished his supper : which she had regarded in
silent horror, and with fearful auguries of his future
appetite : " have you done ?"

There being nothing eatable within his reach, Oli
ver replied in the affirmative.

" Then come with me," said Mrs. Sowerberry : tak
ing up a dim and dirty lamp, and leading the way
up stairs ; " your bed's under the counter. You don't
mind sleeping among the coffins, I suppose ? But it
doesn't much matter whether you do or don't, for you
can't sleep anywhere else. Come, don't keep me here
all night !"

Oliver lingered no longer, but meekly followed his
new mistress.

CHAPTEE V. .

OLIVER MINGLES WITH NEW ASSOCIATES. GOING TO A
FUNERAL FOR THE FIRST TIME, HE FORMS AN UNFA
VORABLE NOTION OF HIS MASTER'S BUSINESS.

k LIVER, being left to himself in the undertaker's
shop, set the lamp down on a workman's bench,
and gazed timidly about him with a feeling of awe
and dread, which many people a good deal older than
he will be at no loss to understand. An unfinished
coffin on black tressels, which stood in the middle of
the shop, looked so gloomy and death-like that a
cold tremble came over him every time his eyes wan
dered in the direction of the dismal object : from
which he almost expected to see some frightful form
slowly rear its head, to drive him mad with terror.
Against the wall were ranged, in regular array, a
long row of elm boards cut into the same shape :
looking in the dim light, like high-shouldered ghosts
with their hands in their breeches-pockets. Coffin-
plates, elm-chips, bright-headed nails, and shreds of
black cloth, lay scattered on the floor ; and the wall

behind the counter was ornamented with a lively
representation of two mutes in very stiff neckcloths,
on duty at a large private door, with a hearse drawn
by four black steeds, approaching in the distance.
The shop was close and hot. The atmosphere seemed
tainted with the smell of coffins. The recess beneath
the counter in which his flock mattress was thrust,
looked like a grave.

Nor Avere these the only dismal feelings which de
pressed Oliver. Ho was alone in a strange place ;
and we all know how chilled and desolate the best
of us will sometimes feel in such a situation. The
boy had no friends to care for, or to care for him.
The regret of no recent separation was fresh in his
mind ; the absence of no loved and well-remembered
face sank heavily into his heart. But his heart was
heavy, notwithstanding ; and he wished, as he crept
into his narrow bed, that that were his coffin, and
that he could be lain in a calm and lasting sleep in
the church-yard ground, with the tall grass waving
gently above his head, and the sound of the old deep
bell to soothe him in his sleep.

Oliver was awakened in the morning, by a loud
kicking at the outside of the shop-door : which, be
fore he could huddle on his clothes, was repeated, in
an angry and impetuous manner, about twenty-five
times. When he began to undo the chain, the legs
desisted, and a voice began.

" Open the door, will yer ?" cried the voice which
belonged to the legs which had kicked at the door.

" I will, directly, sir," replied Oliver, undoing the
chain, and turning the key.

" I suppose yer the new boy, ain't yer ?" said the
voice through the key-hole.

" Yes, sir," replied Oliver.

" How old are yer ?" inquired the voice.

" Ten, sir," replied Oliver.

" Then I'll whop yer when I get in," said the voice ;
" you just see if I don't, that's all, my work'us brat !"
and having made this obliging promise, the voice
began to whistle.

Oliver had been too often subjected to the proc
ess to which the very expressive monosyllable just
recorded bears reference, to entertain the smallest
doubt that the owner of the voice, whoever he might
be, would redeem his pledge, most honorably. He
drew back the bolts with a trembling hand, and
opened the door.

For a second or two, Oliver glanced up the street,
and down the street, and over the way : impressed
with the belief that the unknown, who had addressed
him through the key-hole, had walked a few paces
off, to warm himself; for nobody did he see but a big
charity-boy, sitting on a post in front of the house,
eating a slice of bread and butter : which he cut into
wedges, the size of his mouth, with a clasp-knife, and
then consumed with great dexterity.

" I beg your pardon, sir," said Oliver at length :
seeing that no other visitor made his appearance;
" did you knock f '

" I kicked," replied the charity-boy.

" Did you want a coffin, sir f ' inquired Oliver, in
nocently.

At this the charity-boy looked monstrous fierce ;
and said that Oliver would want one before long, if
he cut jokes with his superiors in that way.

NEW IDEA IN THE UNDERTAKING WAY.

" Yer don't know who I am, I suppose, Work'us?"
said the charity-boy, iii continuation : descending
from the top of the post, meanwhile, with edifying-
gravity.

" No, sir," rejoined Oliver.

" I'm Mister Noah Claypole," said the charity-boy,
" and you're under me. Take down the shutters, yer
idle young ruffian !" With this, Mr. Claypole admin
istered a kick to Oliver, and entered the shop with a
dignified air, which did him great credit. It is diffi
cult for a large-headed, small-eyed yonth, of lumber
ing make and heavy countenance, to look dignified
under any circumstances ; but it is more especially
so, when superadded to these personal attractions
are a red nose and yellow smalls.

Oliver, having taken down the shutters, and broken
a pane of glass in his efforts to stagger away beneath
the weight of the first one to a small court at the
side of the house in which they were kept during the
day, was graciously assisted by Noah : who having
consoled him with the assurance that " he'd catch it,"
condescended to help him. Mr. Sowerberry came
down soon after. Shortly afterward, Mrs. Sowerber
ry appeared. Oliver having " caught it," in fulfill
ment of Noah's prediction, followed that young gen
tleman down the stairs to breakfast.

" Come near the fire, Noah," said Charlotte. " I
saved a nice little bit of bacon for you from master's
breakfast. Oliver, shut that door at Mister Noah's
back, and take them bits that I've put out on the
cover of the bread-pan. There's your tea ; take it
away to that box, and drink it there, and make haste,
for they'll want you to mind the shop. D'ye hear ?"

" D'ye hear, Work'us ?" said Noah Claypole.

" Lor, Noah !" said Charlotte, " what a rum creature
you are ! Why don't you let the boy alone ?"

" Let him alone !" said Noah. " Why every body
lets him alone enough, for the matter of that. Nei
ther his father nor his mother will ever interfere with
him. All his relations let him have his own way
pretty well. Eh, Charlotte ? He ! he ! he !"

" Oh, you queer soul !" said Charlotte, bursting into
a hearty laugh, in which she was joined by Noah ;
after which they both looked scornfully at poor Oli
ver Twist, as he sat shivering on the box in the cold
est corner of the room, and ate the stale pieces which
had been specially reserved for him.

Noah was a charity-boy, but not a work-house or
phan. No chance child was he, for he could trace
his genealogy all the way back to his parents, who
lived hard by; his mother being a washer-woman,
and his father a drunken soldier, discharged with a
wooden leg, and a diurnal pension of twopence-half
penny and an unstateable fraction. The shop-boys
in the neighborhood had long been in the habit of
branding Noah, in the public streets, with the igno
minious epithets of " leathers," " charity," and the
like ; and Noah had borne them without reply. But,
now that fortune had cast in his way a nameless or
phan, at whom even the meanest could point the fin
ger of scorn, he retorted on him with interest. This
affords charming food for contemplation. It shows
us what a beautiful thing human nature may be made
to be ; and how impartially the same amiable quali
ties are developed in the finest lord and the dirtiest
charity-boy.

Oliver had been sojourning at the undertaker's
some three weeks or a month. Mr. and Mrs. Sower-
berry the shop being shut up were taking their
supper in the little back-parlor, when Mr. Sowerber
ry, after several deferential glances at his wife, said,

" My dear : He was going to say more ; but,
Mrs. Sowerberry looking up, with a peculiar unpro-
pitious aspect, he stopped short.

"Well," said Mrs. Sowerberry, sharply.

" Nothing, my dear, nothing," said Mr. Sowerberry.

" Ugh, you brute !" 4 said Mrs. Sowerberry.

" Not at all, my dear," said Mr. Sowerberry, hum
bly. " I thought you didn't want to hear, my dear.
I was only going to say

" Oh, don't tell me what you were going to say,"
interposed Mrs. Sowerberry. " I am nobody ; don't
consult me, pray. / don't want to intrude upon your
secrets." As Mrs. Sowerberry said this, she gave
an hysterical laugh, which threatened violent conse
quences.

" But, my dear," said Sowerberry, " I want to ask
your advice."

" No, no, don't ask mine," replied Mrs. Sowerber
ry, in an aifecting manner : " ask somebody else's."
Here there was another hysterical laugh, which
frightened Mr. Sowerberry very much. This is a
very common and much-approved matrimonial course
of treatment, which is often very effective. It at
once reduced Mr. Sowerberry to begging, as a spe
cial favor, to be allowed to say what Mrs. Sowerberry
was most curious to hear. After a short altercation
of less than three-quarters of an hour's duration, the
permission was most graciously conceded.

" It's only about young Twist, my dear," said Mr.
Sowerberry. "A very good-looking boy, that, my
dear."

" He need be, for he eats enough," observed the
lady.

" There's an expression of melancholy in his face,
my dear," resumed Mr. Sowerberry, " which is very
interesting. He would make a delightful mute, my
love."

Mrs. Sowerberry looked up with an expression of
considerable wonderment. Mr. Sowerberry remark
ed it ; and, without allowing time for any observa
tion on the good lady's part, proceeded.

" I don't mean a regular mute to attend grown-up
people, my dear, but only for children's practice. It
would be very new to have a mute in proportion, my
dear. You may depend upon it, it would have a su
perb effect."

Mrs. Sowerberry, who had a good deal of taste in
the undertaking way, was much struck by the nov
elty of this idea ; but, as it would have been com
promising her dignity to have said so, under existing
circumstances, she merely inquired, with much sharp
ness, why such an obvious suggestion had not pre
sented itself to her husband's mind before ? Mr.
Sowerberry rightly construed this as an acquies
cence in his proposition ; it was speedily determined,
therefore, that Oliver should be at once initial r< I
into the mysteries of the trade ; and, with this view,
that he should accompany his master on the very
next occasion of his services being required.

The occasion was not long in coining. Half an
hour after breakfast next morning, Mr. Bumble en-

OLIVES TWIST.

tered the shop ; and supporting his cane against the
counter, drew forth his large leathern pocket-book :
from which he selected a small scrap of paper, which
he handed over to Sowerberry.

" Aha," said the undertaker, glancing over it with
a lively countenance ; " an order for a coffin, eh ?"

"For a coffin first, and a porochial funeral after
ward," replied Mr. Bumble, fastening the strap of
the leathern pocket-book, which, like himself, was
very corpulent.

" Bayton," said the undertaker, looking from the
scrap of paper to Mr. Bumble. " I never heard the
name before."

Bumble shook his head, as he replied, " Obstinate
people, Mr. Sowerberry ; very obstinate. Proud, too,
I'm afraid, sir."

" Proud, eh ?" exclaimed Mr. Sowerberry, with a
sneer. " Come, that's too much."

"Oh, it's sickening," replied the beadle. "Anti-
monial, Mr. Sowerberry !"

" So it is," acquiesced the undertaker.

"We only heard of the family the night before
last," said the beadle; "and we shouldn't have
known any thing about them, then, only a woman
who lodges in the same house made an application
to the porochial committee for them to send the po
rochial surgeon to see a woman as was very bad.
He had gone out to dinner ; but his 'prentice (which
is a very clever lad) sent 'em some medicine in a
blacking-bottle, off-hand."

"Ah, there's promptness," said the undertaker.

" Promptness, indeed !" replied the beadle. " But
what's the consequence ; what's the ungrateful be
havior of these rebels, sir ? Why, the husband sends
back word that the medicine won't suit his wife's
complaint, and so she sha'n't take it says she sha'n't
take it, sir. Good, strong, wholesome medicine, as
was given with great success to two Irish laborers
and a coal-heaver only a week before sent 'em for
nothing, with a blacking-bottle in and he sends
back word that she sha'n't take it, sir !"

As the atrocity presented itself to Mr. Bumble's
mind in full force, he struck the counter sharply
with his cane, and became flushed with indignation.

" Well," said the undertaker, " I ne ver -did "

" Never did, sir !" ejaculated the beadle. " No, nor
nobody never did ; but, now she's dead, we've got to
bury her ; and that's the direction ; and the sooner
it's done, the better."

Thus saying, Mr. Bumble put on his cocked hat
wrong side first, in a fever of parochial excitement ;
and flounced out of the shop.

" Why, he was so angry, Oliver, that he forgot
even to ask after you !" said Mr. Sowerberry, looking
after the beadle as he strode down the street.

" Yes, sir," replied Oliver, who had carefully kept
himself out of sight during the interview ; and who
was shaking from head to foot at the mere recollec
tion of the sound of Mr. Bumble's voice. He needn't
have taken the trouble to shrink from Mr. Bumble's
glance, however ; for that functionary, on whom the
prediction of the gentleman in the white waistcoat
had made a very strong impression, thought that
now the undertaker had got Oliver upon trial the
subject was better avoided, until such time as he
should be firmly bound for seven years, and all dan

ger of his being returned upon the hands of the par
ish should be thus effectually and legally overcome.

"Well," said Mr. Sowerberry, taking up his hat,
" the sooner this job is done, the better. Noah, look
after the shop. Oliver, put on your cap and come
with me." Oliver obeyed, and followed his master
on his professional mission.

They walked on for some time through the most
crowded and densely inhabited part of the town ;
and then, striking down a narrow street more dirty
and miserable than any they had yet passed through,
paused to look for the house which was the object
of their search. The houses on either side were high
and large, but very old, and tenanted by people of
the poorest class : as their neglected appearance
would have sufficiently denoted, without the concur
rent testimony afforded by the squalid looks of the
few men and women who, with folded arms and bod
ies half doubled, occasionally skulked along. A great
many of the tenements had shop-fronts ; but these
were fast closed, and mouldering away; only the
upper rooms being inhabited. Some houses, which
had become insecure from age and decay, were pre
vented from falling into the street by huge beams
of wood reared against the walls, and firmly plant
ed in the road; but even these crazy dens seemed
to have been selected as the nightly haunts of some
houseless wretches, for many of the rough boards
which supplied the place of door and window were
wrenched from their positions, to afford an aperture
wide enough for the passage of a human body. The
kennel was stagnant and filthy. The very rats,
which here and there lay putrefying in its rotten
ness, were hideous with famine.

There was neither knocker nor bell-handle at the
open door where Oliver and his master stopped ; so,
groping his way cautiously through the dark pas
sage, and bidding Oliver keep close to him and not
be afraid, the undertaker mounted to the top of the
first flight of stairs. Stumbling against a door on
the landing, he rapped at it with his knuckles.

It was opened by a young girl of thirteen or four
teen. The undertaker at once saw enough of what
the room contained, to know it was the apartment
to which he had been directed. He stepped in ; Ol
iver followed him.

There was no fire in the room; but a man was
crouching, mechanically, over the empty stove. An
old woman, too, had drawn a low stool to the cold
hearth, and was sitting beside him. There were
some ragged children in another corner; and in a
small recess, opposite the door, there lay upon the
ground something covered with an old blanket. Ol
iver shuddered as he cast his eyes toward the place,
and crept involuntarily closer to his master; for
though it was covered up, the boy felt that it was a
corpse.

The man's face was thin and very pale ; his hair
and beard were grizzly; his eyes were bloodshot.
The old woman's face was wrinkled ; her two remain
ing teeth protruded over her under lip ; and her eyes
were bright and piercing. Oliver was afraid to look
at either her or the man. They seemed so like the
rats he had seen outside.

" Nobody shall go near her," said the man, start
ing fiercely up, as the undertaker approached the re-

THANKLESS PAUPERISM,

cess. "Keep back! Damn you, keep back, if you've
a life to lose !"

"Nonsense, my good man," said the undertaker,
who was pretty well used to misery in all its shapes.
" Nonsense !"

" I tell you," said the man, clenching his hands,
and stamping furiously on the floor " I tell you I
won't have her put into the ground. She couldn't
rest there. The worms would worry her not eat
her she is so worn away."

The undertaker offered no reply to this raving;
but producing a tape from his pocket, knelt down
for a moment by the side of the body.

"Ah !" said the man : bursting into tears, and sink
ing on his knees at the feet of the dead woman ;
" kneel down, kneel down kneel round her, every
one of you, and mark my words ! I say she was
starved to death. I never knew how bad she was,
till the fever came upon her; and then her bones
were starting through the skin. There was neither
fire nor candle ; she died in the dark in the dark !
She couldn't even see her children's faces, though we
heard her gasping out their names. I begged for her
in the streets ; and they sent me to prison. When I
came back, she was dying ; and all the blood in my
heart has dried up, for they starved her to death. I
swear it before the God that saw it ! They starved
her !" He twined his hands in his hair ; and, with a
loud scream, rolled groveling upon the floor : his eyes
fixed, and the foam covering his lips.

The terrified children cried bitterly ; but the old
woman, who had hitherto remained as quiet as if she
had been wholly deaf to all that passed, menaced
them into silence. Having unloosed the cravat of
the man who still remained extended on the ground,
she tottered toward the undertaker.

" She was my daughter," said the old woman, nod
ding her head in the direction of the corpse, and
speaking with an idiotic leer, more ghastly than even
the presence of death in snch a place. " Lord, Lord !
Well, it is strange that I who gave birth to her, and
was a woman then, should be alive and merry now,
and she lying there : so cold and stiff! Lord, Lord !
to think of it ; it's as good as a play as good as a
play!"

As the wretched creature mumbled and chuckled
in her hideous merriment, the undertaker turned to
go away.

" Stop, stop !" said the old woman in a loud whis
per. " Will she be buried to-morrow, or next day,
or to-night ? I laid her out ; and I must walk, you
know. Send me a large cloak : a good warm one :
for it is bitter cold. We should have cake and wine,
too, before we go ! Never mind ; send some bread
only a loaf of bread and a cup of water. Shall we
have some bread, dear ?" she said eagerly, catching
at the undertaker's coat, as he once more moved to
ward the door.

" Yes, yes," said the undertaker, " of course. Any
thing you like !" He disengaged himself from the old
woman's grasp ; and, drawing Oliver after him, hur
ried away.

The next day (the family having been meanwhile
relieved with a half-quartern loaf and a piece of
cheese, left with them by Mr. Bumble himself), Oli
ver and his master returned to the miserable abode ;

where Mr. Bumble had already arrived, accompanied
by four men from the work-house, who were to act as
bearers. An old black cloak had been thrown over
the rags of the old woman and the man ; and the bare
coffin having been screwed down, was hoisted on the
shoulders of the bearers, and carried into the street.

" Now you must put your best leg foremost, old
lady !" whispered Sowerberry in the old woman's ear ;
"w T e are rather late; and it won't do to keep the
clergyman waiting. Move on, my men as quick
as you like !"

Thus directed, the bearers trotted on under their
light burden; and the two mourners kept as near
them as they could. Mr. Bumble and Sowerberry
walked at a good smart pace in front ; and Oliver,
whose legs were not so long as his master's, ran by
the side.

There was not so great a necessity for hurrying as
Mr. Sowerberry had anticipated, however ; for when
they reached the obscure corner of the church-yard in
which the nettles grew, and where the parish graves
were made, the clergyman had not arrived ; and the
clerk, who was sitting by the vestry-room fire, seemed
to think it by no means improbable that it might be
an hour or so before he came. So they put the bier
on the brink of the grave ; and the two mourners
waited patiently in the damp clay, with a cold rain
drizzling down, while the ragged boys whom the
spectacle had attracted into the church-yard played
a noisy game at hide-and-seek among the tomb
stones, or varied their amusements by jumping back
ward and forward over the coffin. Mr. Sowerberry
and Bumble, being personal friends of the clerk, sat
by the fire with him, and read the paper.

At length, after a lapse of something more than an
hour, Mr. Bumble, and Sowerberry, and the clerk,
were seen running toward the grave. Immediately
afterward, the clergyman appeared, putting on his
surplice as he came along. Mr. Bumble then thrash
ed a boy or two, to keep up appearances ; and the
reverend gentleman, having read as much of the bu
rial service as could be compressed into four minutes,
gave his surplice to the clerk, and walked away again.

" Now, Bill !" said Sowerberry to the grave-digger.
"Fill up!"

It was no very difficult task ; for the grave was so
full, that the uppermost coffin was within a few feet
of the surface. The grave-digger shoveled in the
earth ; stamped it loosely down with his feet ; shoul
dered his spade ; and walked off, followed by the
boys, who murmured very loud complaints at the fun
being over so soon.

" Come, my good fellow !" said Bumble, tapping
the man on the back. " They want to shut up the
yard."

The man, who had never once moved since he had
taken his station by the grave-side, started, raised
his head, stared at the person who had addressed
him, walked forward for a few paces, and fell down
in a swoon. The crazy old woman was too much oc
cupied in bewailing the loss of her cloak (which the
undertaker had taken off) to pay him any attention ;
so they threw a can of cold water over him; and
when he came to, saw him safely out of the church
yard, locked the gate, and departed on their different
ways.

OLIVER TWIST.

" Well, Oliver," said Sowerberry, a.s they walked
home, " how do you like it ?"

" Pretty well, thank you, sir," replied Oliver, with
considerable hesitation. " Not very much, sir.'^

"Ah, you'll get used to it in time, Oliver," said
Sowerberry. " Nothing when vou are used to it, my
boy."

Oliver wondered, in his own mind, whether it had
taken a very long time to get Mr. Sowerberry used
to it. But he thought it better not to ask the ques
tion ; and walked back to the shop, thinking over
all he had seen and heard.

CHAPTER VI.

OLIVER, BEING GOADED BY THE TAUNTS OF NOAH,
BOUSES INTO ACTION, AND RATHER ASTONISHES HIM.

TlHE month's trial over, Oliver was formally ap
prenticed. It was a nice sickly season just at
this time. In commercial phrase, coffins were look
ing up ; and, in the course of a few weeks, Oliver ac
quired a great deal of experience. The success of Mr.
Sowerberry's ingenious speculation exceeded even his
most sanguine hopes. The oldest inhabitants recol
lected no period at which measles had been so prev
alent, or so fatal to infant existence ; and many were
the mournful processions which little Oliver headed,
in a hat-band reaching down to his knees, to the in
describable admiration and emotion of all the- moth
ers in the town. As Oliver accompanied his master
in most of his adult expeditious, too, in order that he
might acquire that equanimity of demeanor and full
command of nerve which are essential to a finished
undertaker, he had many opportunities of observing
the beautiful resignation and fortitude with which
some strong-minded people bear their trials and
losses.

For instance ; when Sowerberry had an order for
the burial of some rich old lady or gentleman, who
was surrounded by a great number of nephews and
nieces, who had been perfectly inconsolable during
the previous illness, and whose grief had been wholly
irrepressible even on the most public occasions, they
would be as happy among themselves as need be
quite cheerful and contented conversing together
with as much freedom and gayety, as if nothing
whatever had happened to disturb them. Husbands,
too, bore the loss of their wives with the most heroic
calmness. Wives, again, put on weeds for their hus
bands, as if, so far from grieving in the garb of sor
row, they had made up their minds to render it as
becoming and attractive as possible. It was observ
able, too, that ladies and gentlemen who were in pas
sions of anguish during the ceremony of interment,
recovered almost as soon as they reached home, and
became quite composed before the tea-drinking was
over. All this was very pleasant and improving to
see ; and Oliver beheld it with great admiration.

That Oliver Twist was moved to resignation by
the example of these good people, I can not, although
I am his biographer, undertake to affirm with any
degree of confidence ; but I can most distinctly say, !
that for many months he continued meekly to sub- ;
mit to the domination and ill-treatment of Noah

Claypole : who used him far worse than before, now
that his jealousy was roused by seeing the new boy
promoted to the black stick and hat-band, while he,
the old one, remained stationary in the muffin-cap
and leathers. Charlotte treated him ill, because
Noah did ; and Mrs. Sowerberry was his decided en
emy, because Mr. Sowerberry was disposed to be his
friend ; so, between these three on one side, and a
glut of funerals on the other, Oliver was not alto
gether as comfortable as the hungry pig was when
he was shut up, by mistake, in the grain department
of a brewery.

And now I come to a very important passage in
Oliver's history ; for I have to record an act, slight
and unimportant perhaps in appearance, but which
indirectly produced a material change in all his fu
ture prospects and proceedings.

One day, Oliver and Noah had descended into the
kitchen at the usual dinner-hour, to banquet upon a
small joint of mutton a pound and a half of the
worst end of the neck when Charlotte being called
out of the way, there ensued a brief interval of time,
which Noah Claypole, being hungry and vicious, con
sidered he could not possibly devote to a worthier
purpose than aggravating and tantalizing young Ol
iver Twist.

Intent upon this innocent amusement, Noah put
his feet on the table-cloth ; and pulled Oliver's hair ;
and twitched his ears; and expressed his opinion
that he was a " sneak ;" and furthermore announced
his intention of coming to see him hanged, whenever
that desirable event should take place ; and entered
upon various other topics of petty annoyance, like a
malicious and ill-conditioned charity-boy as he was.
But, none of these taunts producing the desired ef
fect of making Oliver cry, Noah attempted to be
more facetious still ; and in this attempt, did what
many small wits, with far greater reputations than
Noah, sometimes do to this day, when they want to
be funny. He got rather personal.

" Work'us," said Noah, " how's your mother ?"

"She's dead," replied Oliver; "don't you say any
thing about her to me !"

Oliver's color rose as he said this; he breathed
quickly ; and there was a curious working of the
mouth and nostrils, which Mr. Claypole thought
must be the immediate precursor of a violent fit of
crying. Under this impression he returned to the
charge.

" What did she die of, Work'us ?" said Noah.

"Of a broken heart, some of our old nurses told
me," replied Oliver: more as if he were talking to
himself than answering Noah. "I think I know
what it must be to die of that !"

"Tol de rol lol lol, right fol lairy, Work'us," said
Noah, as a tear rolled down Oliver's cheek. " What's
set you a sniveling now ?"

"Not you" replied Oliver, hastily brushing the
tear away. " Don't think it."

" Oh, not me, eh ?" sneered Noah.

" No, not you," replied Oliver, sharply. " There,
that's enough. Don't say any thing more to me
about her ; you'd better not !"

"Better not!" exclaimed Noah. "Well! Better
not ! Work'us, don't be impudent. Your mother,
too ! She was a nice 'un, she was. Oh, Lor !" And

MURDER.

here Noah nodded his head expressively ; and curled
np as much of his small red nose as muscular action
could collect together for the occasion.

" Yer know, Work'us," continued Noah, embolden
ed by Oliver's silence, and speaking in a jeering tone
of affected pity of all tones the most annoying
" Yer know, Work'us, it can't be helped now ; and of
course yer couldn't help it then ; and I'm very sorry
for it ; and I'm sure we all are, and pity yer very
much. But yer must know, Work'us, yer mother
was a regular right-down bad 'un."

" What did you say ?" inquired Oliver, looking up
very quickly.

"A regular right-down bad 'un, Work'us," replied

His breast heaved ; his attitude was erect ; his eye
bright and vivid ; his whole person changed, as he
stood glaring over the cowardly tormentor who now
lay crouching at his feet ; and defied him with an
energy he had never known before.

" He'll murder me !" blubbered Noah. " Charlotte !
missis! Here's the new boy a murdering of me!
Help ! help ! Oliver's gone mad ! Char lotte !"

Noah's shouts were responded to by a loud scream
from Charlotte and a louder from Mrs. Sowerberry ;
the former of whom rushed into the kitchen by a
side door, while the latter paused on the staircase
till she was quite certain that it was consistent with
the preservation of human life to come farther down.

OLIVER BATHES ASTONIbllBS NOA1I.

Noah, coolly. " And it's a great deal better, Work'us,
that she died when she did, or else she'd have been
hard laboring in Bridewell, or transported, or hung ;
which is more likely than either, isn't it ?"

Crimson with fury, Oliver started up; overthrew
the chair and table; seized Noah by the throat;
shook him, in the violence of his rage, till his teeth
chattered in his head ; and, collecting his whole force
into one heavy blow, felled him to the ground.

A minute ago, the boy had looked the quiet, mild,
dejected creature that harsh treatment had made
him. But his spirit was roused at last; the cruel
insult to his dead mother had set his blood on fire.

" Oh, yon little wretch !" screamed Charlotte, seiz
ing Oliver with her utmost force, which was about
equal to that of a moderately strong man in partic
ularly good training. " Oh, you little un-grate-ful,
mur-de-rous, hor-rid villain !" And between every
syllable Charlotte gave Oliver a blow with all her
might, accompanying it with a scream for the bene
fit of society.

Charlotte's fist was by no means a light one ; but,
lest it should not be effectual in calming Oliver's
wrath, Mrs. Sowerberry plunged into the kitchen,
and assisted to hold him with one hand, while she
scratched his face with the other. In this favorable

OLIVER TWIST.

position of affairs, Noah rose from the ground, and
pommeled him behind.

This was rather too violent exercise to last long.
When they were all wearied out, and could tear and
beat no longer, they dragged Oliver, struggling and
shouting, but nothing daunted, into the dust-cellar,
and there locked him up. This being done, Mrs.
Sowerberry sunk into a chair, and burst into tears.

"Bless her, she's going off!" said Charlotte. "A
glass of water, Noah, dear. Make haste !"

" Oh ! Charlotte," said Mrs. Sowerberry : speaking
as well as she could, through a deficiency of breath,
and a sufficiency of cold water, which Noah had
poured over her head and shoulders. "Oh! Char
lotte, what a mercy we have not all been murdered
in our beds !"

" Ah ! mercy indeed, ma'am," was the reply. " I
only hope this'll teach master not to have any more
of these dreadful creaturs, that are born to be mur
derers and robbers from their very cradle. Poor
Noah ! he was all but killed, ma'am, when I come in."

" Poor fellow !" said Mrs. Sowerberry, looking pit-
eously on the charity-boy.

Noah, whose top waistcoat - button might have
been somewhere on a level with the crown of Ol
iver's head, rubbed his eyes with the inside of his
wrists while this commiseration was bestowed upon
him, and performed some affecting tears and sniffs.

" What's to be done !" exclaimed Mrs. Sowerberry.
" Your master's not at home ; there's not a man in
the house, and he'll kick that door down in ten min
utes." Oliver's vigorous plunges against the bit of
timber in question rendered this occurrence highly
probable.

" Dear, dear ! I don't know, ma'am," said Charlotte,
" unless we send for the police officers."

" Or the millingtary," suggested Mr. Claypole.

" No, no," said Mrs. Sowerberry : bethinking her
self of Oliver's old friend. " Run to Mr. Bumble,
Noah, and tell him to come here directly, and not to
lose a minute ; never mind your cap ! Make haste !
You can hold a knife to that black eye, as you run
along. It'll keep the swelling down."

Noah stopped to make no reply, but started off at
his fullest speed ; and very much it astonished the
people who were out walking, to see a charity-boy
tearing through the streets pell-mell, with no cap on
his head, and a clasp-knife at his eye.

CHAPTER VII.

OLIVER CONTINUES REFRACTORY.

"VfOAH CLAYPOLE ran along the streets at Ms
\ swiftest pace, and paused not once for breath
until he reached the work-house gate. Having rest
ed here, for a minute or so, to collect a good burst of
sobs and an imposing show of tears and terror, he
knocked loudly at the wicket ; and presented such a
rueful face to the aged pauper who opened it, that
even he, who saw nothing but rueful faces about
him at the best of times, started back in astonish
ment.

" Why, what's the matter with the boy !" said the
old pauper.

" Mr. Bumble ! Mr. Bumble !" cried Noah, with well-
affected dismay : and in tones so loud and agitated,
that they not only caught the ear of Mr. Bumble
himself, who happened to be hard by, but alarmed
him so much that he rushed into the yard without
his cocked hat which is a very curious and remark
able circumstance : as showing that even a beadle,
acted upon by a sudden and powerful impulse, may
be afflicted with a momentary visitation of loss of
self-possession, and forgetfuluess of personal dignity.

" Oh, Mr. Bumble, sir !" said Noah: " Oliver, sir
Oliver has "

" What ? What ?" interposed Mr. Bumble, with a
gleam of pleasure in his metallic eyes. "Not run
away ; he hasn't run away, has he, Noah ?"

" No, sir, no. Not run away, sir, but he's turned
wicious," replied Noah. " He tried to murder me,
sir ; and then he tried to murder Charlotte ; and
then missis. Oh! what dreadful pain it is! Such
agony, please, sir!" And here Noah writhed and
twisted his body into an extensive variety of eel-
like positions ; thereby giving Mr. Bumble to under
stand that, from the violent and sanguinary onset
of Oli^r Twist, he had sustained severe internal in
jury and damage, from which he was at that mo
ment suffering the acutest torture.

When Noah saw that the intelligence he commu
nicated perfectly paralyzed Mr. Bumble, he imparted
additional effect thereunto, by bewailing his dread
ful wounds ten times louder than before ; and when
he observed a gentleman in a white w r aistcoat cross
ing the yard, he was more tragic in his lamentations
than ever : rightly conceiving it highly expedient to
attract the notice, and rouse the indignation, of the
gentleman aforesaid.

The gentleman's notice was very soon attracted ;
for he had not walked three paces, when he turned
angrily round, and inquired what that young cur
was howling for, and why Mr. Bumble did not favor
Mm with something which would render the series
of vocular exclamations so designated an involun
tary process ?

" It's a poor boy from the free-school, sir," replied
Mr. Bumble, "who has been nearly murdered all
but murdered, sir by young Twist."

" By Jove !" exclaimed the gentleman in the white
waistcoat, stopping short. " I knew it ! I felt a
strange presentiment from the very first, that that
audacious young savage would come to be hung !"

" He has likewise attempted, sir, to murder the fe
male servant," said Mr. Bumble, with a face of ashy
paleness.

" And his missis," interposed Mr. Claypole.

"And his master, too, I think you said, Noah?"
added Mr. Bumble.

" No ! he's out, or he would have murdered him,"
replied Noah. " He said he wanted to."

" Ah ! Said he wanted to, did he, my boy ?" in
quired the gentleman in the white waistcoat.

" Yes, sir," replied Noah. " And please, sir, missis
wants to know whether Mr. Bumble can spare time
to step up there, directly, and flog him 'cause mas
ter's out."

" Certainly, my boy ; certainly," said the gentle
man in the white waistcoat : smiling benignly, and
patting Noah's head, wMch was about three inches

MISCHIEVOUS EFFECTS OF MEAT.

higher than his own. " You're a good boy a very
good boy. Here's a penny for you. Bumble, just
step up to Sowerberry's with your cane, and see
what's best to be done. Don't spare him, Bumble."

" No, I will not, sir," replied the beadle : adjusting
the wax-end which was twisted round the bottom
of his cane, for purposes of parochial flagellation.

" Tell Sowerbeny not to spare him either. They'll
never do any thing with him, without stripes and
bruises," said the gentleman in the white waistcoat.

" I'll take care, sir," replied the beadle. And the
cocked hat and cane having been, by this time, ad
justed to their owner's satisfaction, Mr. Bumble and
Noah Claypole betook themselves with all speed to
the undertaker's shop.

Here the position of affairs had not at all improved.
Sowerberry had not yet returned, and Oliver con
tinued to kick, with undiminished vigor, at the cellar-
door. The accounts of his ferocity, as related by Mrs.
Sowerberry and Charlotte, were of so startling a na
ture, that Mr. Bumble judged it prudent to parley,
before opening the door. With this view he gave a
kick at the outside, by way of prelude ; and then, ap
plying his mouth to the key-hole, said, in a deep and
impressive tone :

"Oliver!"

" Come ; you let me out !" replied Oliver, from the
inside.

" Do you know this here voice, Oliver '?" said Mr.
Bumble.

" Yes," replied Oliver.

" Ain't you afraid of it, sir ? Ain't you a-trembling
while I speak, sir ?" said Mr. Bumble.

" No !" replied Oliver, boldly.

An answer so different from the one he had expect
ed to elicit, and was in the habit of receiving, stag
gered Mr. Bumble not a little. He stepped back from
the key-hole, drew himself up to his full height, and
looked from one to another of the three by-standers,
in mute astonishment.

" Oh, you know, Mr. Bumble, he must be mad."
.said Mrs. Sowerberry. " No boy in half his senses
could. venture to speak so to you."

" It's not Madness, ma'am," replied Mr. Bumble,
after a few moments of deep meditation. "It's
Meat."

" What ?" exclaimed Mrs. Sowerberry.

" Meat, ma'am, meat," replied Bumble, with stern
emphasis. " You've overfed him, ma'am. You've
raised a artificial soul and spirit in him, ma'am, un
becoming a person of his condition : as the board,
Mrs. Sowerberry, who are practical philosophers, will
tell you. What have paupers to do with soul or
spirit ? It's quite enough that we let 'em have live
bodies. If you had kept the boy on gruel, ma'am,
this would never have happened."

" Dear, dear !" ejaculated Mrs. Sowerberry, piously
raising her eyes to the kitchen ceiling ; " this comes
of being liberal !"

The liberality of Mrs. Sowerberry to Oliver had
consisted in a profuse bestowal upon him of all the
dirty odds and ends which nobody else would eat ; so
there was a great deal of meekness and self-devotion
in he* voluntarily remaining under Mr. Bumble's
heavy accusation. Of which, to do her justice, she
was wholly innocent in thought, word, or deed.

"Ah!" said Mr. Bumble, when the lady brought
her eyes down to earth again ; " the only thing that
can be done now, that I know of, is to leave him in
the cellar for a day or so, till he's a little starved
down ; and then to take him out, and keep bim on
gruel all through his apprenticeship. He comes of
a bad family. Excitable natures, Airs. Sowerberry !
Both the nurse and doctor said that that mother of
his made her way here, against difficulties and pain
that would have killed any well-disposed woman,
weeks before."

At this point of Mr. Bumble's discourse, Oliver,
just hearing enough to know that some new allu
sion was being made to his mother, recommenced
kicking, with a violence that rendered every other
sound inaudible. Sowerberry returned at this junct
ure. . Oliver's offense having been explained to him,
with such exaggerations as the ladies thought best
calculated to rouse his ire, he unlocked the cellar-
door in a twinkling, and dragged his rebellious ap
prentice out by the collar.

Oliver's clothes had been torn in the beating he
had received; his face was bruised and scratched;
and his hair scattered over his forehead. The angry
flush had not disappeared, however; and when he
was pulled out of his prison, he scowled boldly on
Noah, and looked quite undismayed.

" Now, you are a nice young fellow, ain't you ?"
said Sowerberry ; giving Oliver a shake, and a box
on the ear.

" He called my mother names," replied Oliver.

" Well, and what if he did, you little ungrateful
wretch ?" said Mrs. Sowerberry. " She deserved
what he said, and worse."

" She didn't," said Oliver.

" She did," said Mrs. Sowerbeny.

" It's a lie !" said Oliver.

Mrs. Sowerberry burst into a flood of tears.

This flood of tears left Mr. Sowerberry no alterna
tive. If he had hesitated for one instant to punish
Oliver most severely, it must be quite clear to every
experienced reader that he would have been, accord
ing to all precedents in disputes of matrimony es
tablished, a brute, an unnatural husband, an insult
ing creature, a base imitation of a man, and various
other agreeable characters too numerous for recital
within the limits of this chapter. To do him justice,
he was, as far as his power went it was not very
extensive kindly disposed toward the boy; per
haps, because it was his interest to be so ; perhaps,
because his wife disliked him. The flood of tears,
however, left him no resource ; so he at once gave
him a drubbing, which satisfied even Mrs. Sowerber
ry herself, and rendered Mr. Bumble's subsequent ap
plication of the parochial cane rather unnecessary.
For the rest of the day, he was shut up in the back
kitchen, in company with a pump and a slice of
bread ; and, at night, Mrs. Sowerberry, after making
various remarks outside the door, by no means com
plimentary to the memory of his mother, looked into
the room, and, amidst the jeers and pointings of Noah
and Charlotte, ordered him up stairs to his dismal
bed.

It was not until he was left alone in the silence
and stillness of the gloomy workshop of the under
taker, that Oliver gave way to the feelings which

OLIVER TWIST.

the day's treatment may he supposed, likely to have
awakened in a mere child. He had listened to their
taunts with a look of contempt ; he had borne the
lash without a cry ; for he felt that pride swelling
in his heart which would have kept down a shriek
to the last, though they had roasted him alive. But
now, when there was none to see or hear him, he fell
upon his knees on the floor ; and, hiding his face in
his hands, wept such tears as, God send for the cred
it of our nature, few so young may ever have cause
to pour out before him !

For a long time Oliver remained motionless in
this attitude. The caudle was burning low in the
socket when he rose to his feet. Having gazed cau
tiously round him, and listened intently, he gently
undid the fastenings of the door, and looked abroad.

It was a cold, dark night. The stars seemed, to the
boy's eyes, farther from the earth than he had ever
seen them before ; there was no wind ; and the sombre
shadows thrown by the trees upon the ground, looked
sepulchral and death-like, from being so still. He
softly reclosed the door. Having availed himself
of the expiring light of the candle to tie up in a
handkerchief the few articles of wearing apparel
he had, sat himself down upon a bench to wait for
morning.

With the first ray of light that struggled through
the crevices in the shutters, Oliver arose, and again
unbarred the door. One timid look around one
moment's pause of hesitation he had closed it be
hind him, and was in the open street.

He looked to the right and to the left, uncertain
whither to fly. . He remembered to have seen the
wagons, as they went out, toiling up the hill. He
took the same route; and arriving at a foot-path
across the fields, which he knew, after some dis
tance, led out again into the road, struck into it,
and walked quickly on.

Along this same foot-path, Oliver well remember
ed he had trotted beside Mr. Bumble, when he first
carried him to the work-house from the farm. His
way lay directly in front of the cottage. His heart
beat quickly when he bethought himself of this, and
he half resolved to turn back. He had come a long
way though, and should lose a great deal of time by
doing so. Besides, it was so early that there was
very little fear of his being seen ; so he walked on.

He reached the house. There was no appearance
of its inmates stirring at that early hour. Oliver
stopped, and peeped into the garden. A child was
weeding one of the little beds ; as he stopped, he
raised his pale face and disclosed the features of one
of his former companions. Oliver felt glad to see
him before he went ; for, though younger than him
self, he had been his little friend and playmate.
They had been beaten, and starved, and shut up to
gether many and many a time.

" Hush, Dick !" said Oliver, as the boy ran to the
gate, and thrust his thin arm between the rails to
greet him. " Is any one up ?"

" Nobody but me," replied the child.

" You mustn't say you saw me, Dick," said Oliver.
" I am running away. They beat and ill-use me,
Dick ; and I am going to seek my fortune some
long way off. I don't know where. How pale you
are !"

" I heard the doctor tell them I was dying," re
plied the child, with a faint smile. " I am very glad
to see you, dear ; but don't stop, don't stop !"

" Yes, yes, I will, to say good-bye to you," replied
Oliver. " I shall see you again, Dick. I know I
shall. You will be well and happy !"

" I hope so," replied the child. " After I am dead,
but not before. I know the doctor must be right,
Oliver, because I dream so much of Heaven, and An
gels, and kind faces that I never see when I am
awake. Kiss me," said the child, climbing up the
low gate, and flinging his little arms round Oliver's
neck : " Good-bye, dear ! God bless you !"

The blessing was from a young child's lips, but it
was the first that Oliver had ever heard invoked
upon his head ; and through the struggles and suf
ferings, and troubles and changes, of his after-life, he
never once forgot it.

CHAPTER VIII.

OLIVER WALKS TO LONDON. HE ENCOUNTERS ON THE
ROAD A STRANGE SORT OF TOUNG GENTLEMAN.

OLIVER reached the stile at which the by-path
terminated, and once more gained the high
road. It was eight o'clock now. Though he was
nearly five miles away from the town, he ran, and
hid behind the hedges, by turns, till noon, fearing
that he might be pursued and overtaken. Then he
sat down to rest by the side of the mile-stone, and be
gan to think, for the first time, where he had better
go and try to live.

The stone by which he was seated bore, in large
characters, an intimation that it was just seventy
miles from that spot to London. The name awaken
ed a new train of ideas in the boy's mind. London !
that great large place ! nobody not even Mr.
Bumble could ever find him there ! He had often
heard the old men in the work-house, too, say that
no lad of spirit need want in London ; and that there
were ways of living in that vast city which- those
who had been bred up in country parts had no idea
of. It was the very place for a homeless boy, who
must die in the streets unless some one helped him.
As these things passed through his thoughts, he
jumped upon his feet and again walked forward.

He had diminished the distance between himself
and London by full four miles more, before he recol
lected how much he must undergo ere he could hope
to reach his place of destination. As this considera
tion forced itself upon him, he slackened his pace a
little, and meditated upon his means of getting there.
He had a crust of bread, a coarse shirt, and two pairs
of stockings in his bundle. He had a penny too a
gift of Sowerberry's after some funeral in which he
had acquitted himself more than ordinarily well in
his pocket. " A clean shirt," thought Oliver, " is a
very comfortable thing; and so are two pairs of
darned stockings ; and so is a penny ; but they are
small helps to a sixty-five miles' walk in winter
time." But Oliver's thoughts, like those of most
other people, although they were extreme^ ready
and active to point out his difficulties, were wholly
at a loss to suggest any feasible mode of surmount-

THE YOUNG PILGRIM'S PROGRESS.

ing them ; so, after a good deal of thinking to no
particular purpose, he changed his little bundle over
to the other shoulder, and trudged on,

Oliver walked twenty miles that day ; and all that
time tasted nothing but the crust of dry bread, and
a few draughts of water, which he begged at the cot
tage-doors by the road-side. When the night came,
he turned into a meadow ; and, creeping close under
a hay-rick, determined to lie there till morning. He
felt frightened at first, for the wind moaned dismally
over the empty fields ; and he was cold and hungry,
and more alone than he had ever felt before. Being
very tired with his walk, however, he soon fell asleep
and forgot his troubles.

He felt cold and stiff when he got up next morn
ing, and so hungry that he was obliged to exchange
the penny for a small loaf, in the very first village
through which he passed. He had walked no more
than twelve miles, when night closed in again. His
feet were sore, and his legs so weak that they trem
bled beneath him. Another night passed in the
bleak, damp air, made him worse ; when he set for
ward on his journey next morning, he could hardly
crawl along.

He waited at the bottom of a steep hill till a stage
coach came up, and then begged of the outside pas
sengers ; but there were very few who took any no
tice of him ; and even those told him to wait till
they got to the top of the hill, and then let them see
how far he could run for a halfpenny. Poor Oliver
tried to keep up with the coach a little way, but was
unable to do it, by reason of his fatigue and sore feet.
When the outsides saw this, they put their half
pence back into their pockets again, declaring that
he was an idle young dog, and didn't deserve any
thing ; and the coach rattled away and left only a
cloud of dust behind.

In some villages, large painted boards were fixed
up, warning all persons who begged within the dis
trict that they would be sent to jail. This fright
ened Oliver very much, and made him glad to get
out of those villages with all possible expedition. In
others, he would stand about the inn-yards, and look
mournfully at every one who passed : a proceeding
which generally terminated in the landlady's order
ing one of the post-boys who were lounging about
to drive that strange boy out of the place, for she
was sure he had come to steal something. If he
begged at a farmer's house, ten to one but they
threatened to set the dog on him ; and when he
showed his nose in a shop, they talked about the
beadle which brought Oliver's heart into his mouth
very often the only thing he had there for many
hours together.

In fact, if it had not been for a good-hearted turn
pike-man, and a benevolent old lady, Oliver's trou
bles would have been shortened by the very same
process which had put an end to his mother's; in
other words, he would most assuredly have fallen
dead upon the king's highway. But. the turnpike-
niiin gave him a meal of bread and cheese; and the
old lady, who had a shipwrecked grandson wander
ing barefoot in some distant part of the earth, took
pity upon the poor orphan, and gave him what little
she coiild afford and more with such kind and
gentle words, and such tears of sympathy and com

passion, that they sank deeper into Oliver's soul,
than all the sufferings he had ever undergone.

Early on the seventh morning after he had left his
native place, Oliver limped slowly into the little town
of Bamet. The window-shutters w r ere closed ; the
street was empty ; not a soul had awakened to the
business of the day. The sun was rising in all its
splendid beauty ; but the light only served to show
the boy his own lonesomeness and desolation, as he
sat, with bleeding feet and covered with dust, upon
a door-step.

By degrees the shutters were opened ; the window-
blinds were drawn up ; and people began passing to
and fro. Some few stopped to gaze at Oliver for a
moment or two, or turned round to stare at him as
they hurried by ; but none relieved him, or troubled
themselves to inquire how he came there. He had
no heart to beg. And there he sat.

He had been crouching on the step for some time :
wondering at the great number of public -houses
(every other house in Baruet was a tavern, large or
small), gazing listlessly at the coaches as they passed
through, and thinking how strange it seemed that
they could do, with ease, in a few hours, what it had
taken him a whole week of courage and determina
tion beyond his years to accomplish : when he was
roused by observing that a boy, who had passed him
carelessly some minutes before, had returned, and
was now surveying him most earnestly from the op
posite side of the way. He took little heed of this
at first ; but the boy remained in the same attitude
of close observation so long, that Oliver raised his
head, and returned his steady look. Upon this, the
boy crossed over, and, walking close up to Oliver, said,

" Hullo, my covey ! What's the row ?"

The boy who addressed this inquiry to the young
wayfarer, was about his own age : but one of the
queerest -looking boys that Oliver had ever seen.
He was a snub-nosed, flat-browed, common-faced boy
enough ; and as dirty a juvenile as one would wish
to see ; but he had about him all the airs and man
ners of a man. He was short of his age ; with rath
er bow legs, and little, sharp, ugly eyes. His hat was
stuck on the top of his head so lightly, that it threat
ened to fall off every moment and would have done
so, very often, if the wearer had not had a knack of
every now and then giving his head a sudden twitch,
which brought it back to its old place again. He
wore a man's coat, which reached nearly to his heels.
He had turned the cuffs back, half-way up his arm,
to get his hands out of the sleeves : apparently with
the ultimate view of thrusting them into the pockets
of his corduroy trowsers; for there he kept them.
He was, altogether, as roystering and swaggering a
young gentleman as ever stood four feet six, or some
thing less, in his bluchers. .

" Hullo, my covey ! What's the row ?" said this
strange young gentleman to Oliver.

" I am very hungry and tired," replied Oliver : the
tears standing in his eyes as he spoke. " I have
walked a long way. I have been walking these
seven days."

" Walking for sivin days !" said the young gentle
man. " Oh, I see. Beak's order, eh ? But," he add
ed, noticing Oliver's look of surprise, " I suppose you
don't know what a beak is, my flash com-pan-i-on."

OLIVER TWIST.

Oliver mildly replied, that he had always heard a
bird's month described by the term in question.

" My eyes, how green !" exclaimed the young gen
tleman. " Why, a beak's a madgst'rate ; and when
you walk by a beak's order, it's not straight forerd,
but always a-going up, and nivir a-couiiug down agin.
Was you never on the mill ?"

" What mill ?" inquired Oliver.

" What mill ! Why, the mill the mill as takes up
so little room that it'll work inside a Stone Jug ; and
always goes better when the wind's low with people,
than when it's high ; acos then they can't get work
men. But come," said the young gentleman ; " you
want grub, and you shall have it. I'm at low-wa
ter-mark myself only one bob and a magpie ; but,

which the strange boy eyed him from time to time
with great attention.

" Going to London ?" said the strange boy, when
Oliver had at length concluded.

" Yes."

" Got any lodgings ?"

"No."

"Money?"

"No."

The strange boy whistled, and put his arms into his
pockets as far as the big coat sleeves would let them go.

" Do you live in London ?" inquired Oliver.

" Yes, I do, when I'm at home," replied the boy.
" I suppose you want some place to sleep in to-night,
don't you F

" HULLO, MY COVEY ! WIIAT'B TI1E EOW ?"

as far as it goes, I'll fork out and stump. Up with
you on your pins. There ! Now then ! Morrice !"

Assisting Oliver to rise, the young gentleman took
him to an adjacent chandler's shop, where he pur
chased a sufficiency of ready-dressed ham and a half-
quartern loaf, or, as he himself expressed it, " a four-
penny bran!" the ham being kept clean and pre
served from dust by the ingenious expedient of mak
ing a hole in the loaf by pulling out a portion of the
crumb, and 'stuffing it therein. Taking the bread
under his arm, the young gentleman turned into a
small public-house, and led the way to a tap-room in
the rear of the premises. Here a pot of beer was
brought in by direction of the mysterious youth;
and Oliver, falling to at his new friend's bidding,
made a long and hearty meal, during the progress of

" I do, indeed," answered Oliver. " I have not slept
under a roof since I left the country."

"Don't fret your eyelids on that score," said tlir
young gentleman. "I've got to be in London to
night ; and I know a 'spectable old genelman as lives
there, wot'll give you lodgings for nothink, and nev
er ask for the change that is, if any genelman he
knows interduces you. And don't he know me f
Oh, no ! not in the least ! By no means. Certainly
not!"

The young gentleman smiled, as if to intimate that
the latter fragments of discourse were playfully iron
ical ; and finished the beer as he did so.

This unexpected offer of shelter was too tempting
to be resisted ; especially as it was immediately fol
lowed up, by the assurance that the old gentleman

THE ARTFUL DODGER.

referred to would doubtless provide Oliver with a
comfortable place, without loss of time. This led
te a more friendly and confidential dialogue ; from
which Oliver discovered that his friend's name was
Jack Dawkins, and that he was a peculiar pet and
protege of the elderly gentleman before mentioned.

Mr. Dawkins's appearance did not say a vast deal
in favor of the comforts which his patron's interest
obtained for those whom he took under his protec
tion ; but, as he had a rather flighty and dissolute
mode of conversing, and furthermore avowed that
among his intimate friends he was better known by
the sobriquet of " The artful Dodger," Oliver conclud
ed that, being of a dissipated and careless turn, the
moral precepts of his benefactor had hitherto been
thrown away upon him. Under this impression, he
secretly resolved to cultivate the good opinion of the
old gentleman as quickly as possible ; and, if he
found the Dodger incorrigible, as he more than half
suspected he should, to decline the honor of his fur
ther acquaintance.

As John Dawkius objected to their entering Lon
don before nightfall, it was nearly eleven o'clock
when they reached the turnpike at Islington. They
crossed from the Angel into St. John's road ; struck
down the small street which terminates at Sadler's
Wells Theatre ; through Exmouth Street and Cop
pice Row ; down the little court by the side of the
work-house; across the classic ground which once
bore the name of Hockley-iu-the-Hole ; thence into
Little Saffron Hill ; and so into Saffron Hill the
Great ; along which the Dodger scudded at a rapid
pace, directing Oliver to follow close at his heels.

Although Oliver had enough to occupy his atten
tion in keeping sight of his leader, he could not help
bestowing a few hasty glances on either side of the
way, as he passed along. A dirtier or more wretch
ed place he had never seen. The street was very
narrow and muddy, and the air was impregnated
with filthy odors. There were a good many small
shops; but the only stock-in-trade appeared to be
heaps of children, who, even at that time of night,
were crawling in and out at the doors, or screaming
from the inside. The sole places that seemed to
prosper amidst the general blight of the j lace were
the public-houses ; and in them the lowest orders of
Irish were wrangling with might and main. Cov
ered ways and yards, which here and there diverged
from the main street, disclosed little knots of houses,
where drunken men and women were positively wal
lowing in filth*; and from several of the door-ways,
great ill-looking fellows were cautiously emerging,
bound, to all appearance, on no very well-disposed
or harmless errands.

Oliver was just considering whether he hadn't bet
ter run away, when they reached the bottom of the
hill. His conductor, catching him by the arm, push
ed open the door of a house near Field Lane ; and,
drawing him into the passage, closed it behind them.

" Now, then !" cried a voice from below, in reply to
a whistle from the Dodger.

" Plummy and slam !" was the reply.

This seemed to be some watch-word or signal that
all was right ; for the light of a feeble candle gleam
ed on the wall at the remote end of the passage;
and a man's face peeped out from where a balus

trade of the old kitchen staircase had been broken
away.

" There's two on you," said the man, thrusting the
candle farther out, and shading his eyes with his
hand. " Who's the t'other one f '

"A new pal," replied Jack Dawkins, pulling Oli
ver forward.

" Where did he come from ?"

" Greenland. Is Fagin up stairs ?"

"Yes; he's a sortiif the wipes. Up with you!"
The candle was drawn back, and the face disap
peared.

Oliver, groping his way with one hand, and hav
ing the other firmly grasped by his companion, as
cended with much difficulty the dark and broken
stairs ; which his conductor mounted with an ease
and expedition that showed he was well acquainted
with them. He threw open the door of a back-room,
and drew Oliver in after him.

The walls and ceiling of the room were perfectly
black with age and dirt. There was a deal table be
fore the fire : upon which were a candle stuck in a
ginger-beer bottle, two or three pewter pots, a loaf
and butter, and a plate. In a frying-pan, which was
on tlie fire, and which was secured to*the mantel
shelf by a string, some sausages were cooking ; and
standing over them, with a toasting-fork in his hand,
was a very old, shriveled Jew, whose villainous-look
ing and repulsive face was obscured by a quantity of
matted red hair. He was dressed in a greasy flannel
gown, with his throat bare ; and seemed to be divid
ing his attention between the frying-pan and a
clothes-horse, over which a great number of silk
handkerchiefs were hanging. Several rough beds,
made of old sacks, were huddled side by side on the
floor. Seated round the table were four or five boys,
none older than the Dodger, smoking long clay pipes
and drinking spirits, with the air of middle-aged
men. These all crowded about their associates as
he whispered a few words to the Jew; and then
turned round and grinned at Oliver. So did the Jew
tiimself, toasting-fork in hand.

"This is him, Fagin," said Jack Dawkins; "my
friend Oliver Twist."

The Jew grinned ; and, making a low obeisance to
Oliver, took him by the hand, and hoped he should
have the honor of his intimate acquaintance. Upon
this, the young gentlemen with the pipes came round
him, and shook both his hands very hard especial
ly the one in which he held his little bundle. One
young gentleman was very anxious to hang up his
cap for him ; and another was so obliging as to put
his hands in his pockets, in order that, as he was very
tired, he might not have the trouble of emptying
them himself when he went to bed. These civilities
would probably have been extended much farther,
but for a liberal exercise of the Jew's toasting-fork
on the heads and shoulders of the affectionate youths
who offered them.

" We are very glad to see you, Oliver, very," said
the Jew. " Dodger, take off the sausages ; and draw
a tub near the fire for Oliver. Ah, you're a-staring
at the pocket-handkerchiefs! eh, my dear! There
are a good many of 'em, ain't there? We've just
looked 'em out, ready for the wash ; that's all, Oli
verthat's all. Ha ! ha ! ha !"

OLIVER TWIST.

The latter part of this speech was hailed by a bois
terous shout from all the hopeful pupils of the merry
old gentleman; in the midst of which they went to
supper.

Oliver ate his share, and the Jew then mixed him
n glass of hot gin and water: telling him he must
drink it off directly, because another gentleman
wanted the tumbler. Oliver did as he was desired.
Immediately afterward he felt himself gently lifted
on to one of the sacks; and then he sunk into a
deep sleep.

CHAPTER IX.

CONTAINING FARTHER PARTICULARS CONCERNING THE
PLEASANT OLD GENTLEMAN AND HIS HOPEFUL PUPILS.

IT was late next morning when Oliver awoke, from
a sound, long sleep. There was no other person
in the room but the old Jew, who was boiling some
coffee in a saucepan for breakfast, and whistling
softly to himself as he stirred it round and round
with an iron spoon. He would stop every now and
then to listen when there was the least noise below ;
and when h had satisfied himself, he would go on,
whistling and stirring again, as before.

Although Oliver had roused himself from sleep, he
was not thoroughly awake. There is a drowsy state,
between sleeping and waking, when you dream more
in five minutes with your eyes half open, and your
self half conscious of every thing that is passing
around you, than you would in five nights with your
eyes fast closed, and your senses wrapped in perfect
unconsciousness. At such times, a mortal knows
just enough of what his mind is doing, to form some
glimmering conception of its mighty powers, its
bounding from earth and spurning time and space,
when freed from the restraint of its corporeal asso
ciate.

Oliver was precisely in this condition. He saw
the Jew with his half-closed eyes; heard his low
Avhistling ; and recognized the sound of the spoou
grating against the saucepan's sides ; and yet the
self-same senses were mentally engaged, at the same
time, in busy action with almost every body he had
ever known.

When the coffee was done, the Jew drew the sauce
pan to the hob. Standing, then, in an irresolute at
titude for a few minutes, as if he did not well know
how to employ himself, he turned round and looked
at Oliver, and called him by his name. He did not
answer, and was to all appearance asleep.

After satisfying himself upon this head, the Jew
stepped gently to the door : which he fastened. He
then drew forth, as it seemed to Oliver, from some
trap in the floor, a small box, which he placed care
fully on the table. His eyes glistened as he raised
the lid and looked in. Dragging an old chair to the
table, he sat down ; and took from it a magnificent
gold watch, sparkling with jewels.

"Aha!" said the Jew, shrugging up his shoulders,
and distorting every feature with a hideous grin.
' Clever dogs ! Clever do'gs ! Staunch to the last !
Never told the old parson where they were. Never
peached upon old Fagin ! And why should they ?
It wouldn't have loosened the knot, or kept the drop

up, a minute longer. No, 110, no ! Fine fellows !
Fine fellows !''

With these, and other muttered reflections of the
like nature, the Jew once more deposited the watch
in its place of safety. At least half a dozen more
were severally drawn forth from the same box, and
surveyed with equal pleasure ; besides rings, brooch
es, bracelets, and other articles of jewelry, of such
magnificent materials, and costly workmanship, that
Oliver had no idea even of their names.

Having replaced these trinkets, the Jew took out
another, so small that it lay in the palm of his hand.
There seemed to be some very minute inscription on
it ; for the Jew laid it flat upon the table, and, shad
ing it with his hand, pored over it, long and earnest
ly. At length he put it down, as if despairing of
success, and, leaning back in his chair, muttered :

" What a fine thing capital punishment is !> Dead
men never repent ; dead men never bring awkward
stories to light. Ah, it's a fine thing for the trade !
Five of 'em strung up in a row, and none left to play
booty, or turn white-livered !"

As the Jew uttered these words, his bright dark
eyes, which had been staring vacantly before him,
fell on Oliver's face ; the boy's eyes were fixed on his
in mute curiosity ; and although the recognition was
only for an instant for the briefest space of time
that can possibly be conceived it was enough to
show the old man that he had been observed. He
closed the lid of the box with a loud crash ; and, lay
ing his hand on a bread-knife which was on the ta
ble, started furiously up. He trembled very much
though ; for, even in his terror, Oliver could see that
the knife quivered in the air.

"What's that?" said the Jew. "What do you
watch me for ? Why are you awake ? What have
you seen? Spek out, boy! Quick quick! for
your life !"

" I wasn't able to sleep any longer, sir," replied
Oliver, meekly. " I am very sorry if I have disturbed
you, sir."

" You were not awake an hour ago ?" said the Jew,
scowling fiercely on the boy.

" No ! No, indeed !" replied Oliver.

" Are you sure ?" cried the Jew, with a still fiercer
look than before, and a threatening attitude.

" Upon my word I was not, sir," replied Oliver,
earnestly. " I was not, indeed, sir."

" Tush, tush, my dear !" said the Jew, abruptly re
suming his old manner, and playhig with the knife
a little, before he laid it down ; as if to induce the
belief that he had caught it up in mere sport. " Of
course I know that, my dear. I only tried to frighten
you. You're a brave boy. Ha! ha! you're a brave
boy, Oliver!" The Jew rubbed his hands with a
chuckle, but glanced uneasily at the box, notwith
standing.

" Did you see any of these pretty things, my dear ?"
said the Jew, laying his hand upon it after a short
pause.

" Yes, sir," replied Oliver.

"Ah!" said the Jew, turning rather pale. "They
they're mine, Oliver; my little property. All I
have to live upon, in my old age. The folks call me
a miser, my dear. Only a miser ; that's all."

Oliver thought the old gentleman must be a de-

IN THE PLEASANT OLD GENTLEMAN'S HOUSE.

elded ruiser to live in snch a dirty place, with so
many watches ; but, thinking that perhaps his fond
ness for the Dodger and the other boys cost him a
good deal of money, he only cast a deferential look
at the Jew, and asked if he might get up.

" Certainly, my dear, certainly," replied the old
gentleman.' " Stay. There's a pitcher of water in
the corner by the door. Bring it here ; and I'll give
you a basin to wash in, my dear."

Oliver got up ; walked across the room ; and stoop
ed for an instant to raise the pitcher. When he turned
his head, the box was gone.

He had scarcely washed himself, and made every
thing tidy by emptying the basin out of the win
dow, agreeably to the Jew's directions, when the
Dodger returned, accompanied by a very sprightly
young friend, whom Oliver had seen smoking on the
previous night, and who was now formally intro
duced to him as Charley Bates. The four sat down,
to breakfast on the coffee, and some hot rolls and ham
which the Dodger had brought home in the crown of
Ms hat.

"Well," said the Jew, glancing slyly at Oliver,
and addressing himself to the Dodger, "I hope
you've been at work this morning, my dears ?"

" Hard," replied the Dodger.

"As Xails," added Charley Bates.

"Good boys, good boys!" said the Jew. "What
have you got, Dodger ?"

"A cbuple of pocket-books," replied that young
gentleman.

" Lined ?" inquired the Jew, with eagerness.

" Pretty well," replied the Dodger, producing two
pocket-books ; one green, and the other red.

' Xot so heavy as they might be," said the Jew,
after looking at the insides carefully; "but very
neat and nicely made. Ingenious workman, ain't he,
Oliver ?"

"Very, indeed, sir," said Oliver. At which Mr.
Charles Bates laughed uproariously; very much to
the amazement of Oliver, who saw nothing to laugh
at in any thing that had passed.

" And what have you got, my dear ?" said Fagin
to Charley Bates.

'Wipes," replied Master Bates; at the same time
producing four pocket-handkerchiefs.

"Well," said the Jew, inspecting them closely;
" they're very good ones, very. YOTI haven't marked
them well, though, Charley ; so the marks shall be
picked out with a needle, and we'll teach Oliver how
to do it. Shall us, Oliver, eh ? Ha ! ha ! ha !"

" If you please, sir," said Oliver.

" You'd like to be able to make pocket - handker
chiefs as easy as Charley Bates, wouldn't you, my
den r ?'' said the Jew.

"Very much, indeed, if youll teach me, sir," replied
Oliver.

Master Bates saw something so exquisitely ludi
crous in this reply, that he burst into another laugh ;
which laugh, meeting the coffee he was drinking,
and carrying it down some wrong channel, very near
ly terminated in his premature suffocation.

" He is so jolly green !" said Charley when he re
covered, as an apology to the company for his unpo-
lite behavior.

The Dodger said nothing, but he smoothed Oliver's

hair over his eyes, and said he'd know better by-and-
by ; upon which the old gentleman, observing Oliver's
color mounting, changed the subject by asking wheth
er there had been much of a crowd at the execution
that morning? This made him wonder more and
more ; for it was plain from the replies of the two
boys that they had both been there ; and Oliver nat
urally wondered how they could possibly have found
time to be so very industrious.

When the breakfast was cleared away, the merry
old gentleman and the two boys played at a very
curious and uncommon game, which was performed
in this way: The merry old gentleman, placing a
snuff-box in one pocket of his trowsers, a note-case
in the other, and a watch in his waistcoat pocket,
with a guard-chain round his neck, and sticking a
mock - diamond pin in his shirt, buttoned his coat
tight around him, and putting his spectacle-case and
handkerchief in his pockets, trotted up and down
the room with a stick, in imitation of the manner in
which old gentlemen walk about the streets any hour
in the day. Sometimes he stopped at the fire-place,
and sometimes at the door, making believe that he
was staring with all his might into shop - windows.
At such times he would look constantly round him,
for fear of thieves, and would keep slapping all his
pockets in turn, to see that he hadn't lost any thing,
in such a very funny and natural manner, that Oli
ver laughed till the tears ran down his face. All this
time the two boys followed him closely about, get
ting out of his sight, so nimbly, every time he turned
round, that it was impossible to follow their motions.
At last, the Dodger trod upon his toes, or ran upon
his boot accidentally, while Charley Bates stumbled
up against him behind ; and in that one moment they
took from him, with the most extraordinary rapid
ity, snuff-box, note-case, watch-guard, chain, shirt-
pin, pocket-handkerchief, even the spectacle-case.
If the old gentleman felt a hand in any one of his
pockets, he cried out where it was; and then the
game began all over again.

When this game had been played a great many
times, a couple of young ladies called to see the
young gentlemen ; one of whom was named Bet, and
the other Nancy. They wore a good deal of hair,
not very neatly turned up behind, and were rather
untidy about the shoes and stockings. They were
not exactly pretty, perhaps ; but they had a great
deal of color in their faces, and looked quite stout
and hearty. Being remarkably free and agreeable
in their manners, Oliver thought them very nice girls
indeed. As there is no doubt they were.

These visitors stopped a long time. Spirits were
produced, in consequence of one of the young ladies
complaining of a coldness in her inside ; and the con
versation took a very convivial and improving turn.
At length Charley Bates expressed his opinion that
it was time to pad the hoof. This, it occurred to
Oliver, must be French for going out ; for, directly
afterward, the Dodger, and Charley, and the two
young ladies went away together, having been kind
ly furnished by the amiable old Jew with money to
spend.

" There, my dear," said Fagin. " That's a pleasant
life, isn't it ? They have gone out for the day."

" Have they done work, sir I" inquired Oliver.

OLIVER TWIST.

" Yes," said the Jew ; " that is, unless they should
unexpectedly come across any when they are out ;
and they won't neglect it, if they do, my dear, de
pend upon it. Make 'em your models, my dear.
Make 'em your models," tapping the fire-shovel on
the hearth to add force to his words: "do every
thing they bid you, and take their advice in all mat
ters especially the Dodger's, my dear. He'll be a
great man himself, and will make you one too, if you
take pattern by him. Is my handkerchief hanging
out of my pocket, my dear ?" said the Jew, stopping
short.

" Yes, sir," said Oliver.

" See if you can take it out, without my feeling
it, as you saw them do when we were at play this
morning."

Oliver held up the bottom of the pocket with one
hand, as he had seen the Dodger hold it, and drew
the handkerchief lightly out of it with the other.

" Is it gone ?" cried the Jew.

" Here it is, sir," said Oliver, showing it in his
hand.

" You're a clever boy, my dear, 7 * said the playful
old gentleman, patting Oliver on the head approv
ingly. " I never saw a sharper lad. Here's a shil
ling for you. If you go on in this way, you'll be the
greatest man of the time. And now come here, and
I'll show you how to take the marks out of the hand
kerchiefs."

Oliver wondered what picking the old gentleman's
pocket in play had to do with his chances of being
a great man. But,, thinking that the Jew, being so
much his senior^ must know best, he followed him
quietly to the table, and was soon deeply involved
in his new study.

CHAPTER X.

OLIVER BECOMES BETTER ACQUAINTED WITH THE CHAR
ACTERS OF HIS NEW ASSOCIATES, AND PURCHASES EX
PERIENCE AT A HIGH PRICE. BEING A SHORT BUT
VERT IMPORTANT CHAPTER IN THIS HISTORY.

FOR many days Oliver remained in the Jew's
room, picking the marks out of the pocket-hand
kerchiefs, (of which a great number were brought
home,) and sometimes taking part in the game al
ready described, which the two boys and the Jew
played, regularly, every morning. At length he be
gan to languish for fresh air, and took many occa
sions of earnestly entreating the old gentleman to
allow him to go out to work, with his two com
panions.

Oliver was rendered the more anxious to be act
ively employed, by what he had seen of the stern
morality of the old gentleman's character. When
ever the Dodger or Charley Bates came home at
night empty-handed, he would expatiate with great
vehemence on the misery of idle and lazy habits ; and
would enforce upon them the necessity of an active
life, by sending them supperless to bed. On one oc
casion, indeed, he even went so far as to knock them
both down a flight of stairs ; but this was carrying
out his virtuous precepts to an unusual extent.

At length, one morning, Oliver obtained the per
mission he had so eagerly sought. There had been

no handkerchiefs to work upon for two or three
days, and the dinners had been rather meagre. Per
haps these were reasons for the old gentleman's giv
ing his assent ; but, whether they were or no, he told
Oliver he might go, and placed him under the joint
guardianship of Charley Bates and his Mend the
Dodger.

The three boys sallied out ; the Dodger Avith his
coat-sleeves tucked up, and his hat cocked, as xisual ;
'Master Bates sauntering along with his hands in his
pockets ; and Oliver between them, wondering where
they were going, and what branch of manufacture
he would be instructed in first.

The pace at which they went was such a very
lazy, ill-looking saunter, that Oliver soon began to
think his companions were going to deceive the
old gentleman, by not going to work at all. The
Dodger had a vicious propensity, too, of pulling the
caps from the heads of small boys and tossing them
down areas; while Charley Bates exhibited some
very loose notions concerning the rights of property,
by pilfering divers apples and onions from the stalls
at the kennel sides, and thrusting them into pock
ets which were so surprisingly capacious, that they
seemed to undermine his whole suit of clothes in ev
ery direction. These things looked so bad that Ol
iver was on the point of declaring his intention of
seeking his Avay back in the best way he could;
when his thoughts were suddenly directed into an
other channel by a very mysterious change of be
havior on the part of the Dodger.

They were just emerging from a narrow court not
far from the open square in Clerkeuwell, which is
yet called, by some strange perversion of terms, " The
Green," when the Dodger made a sudden stop ; and,
laying his finger on his lip, drew his companions
back again, with the greatest caution and circum
spection.

"What's the matter?" demanded Oliver.

" Hush !" replied the Dodger. " Do you see that
old cove at the book-stall ?"

" The old gentleman over the way ?" said Oliver.
" Yes, I see him."

" He'll do," said the Dodger.

"A prime plant," observed Master Charley Bates.

Oliver looked from one to the other, with the
greatest surprise ; but he was not permitted to make
any inquiries; for the two boys walked stealthily
across the road, and slunk close behind the old gen
tleman toward whom his attention had been direct
ed. Oliver walked a few paces after them ; and, not
knowing whether to advance or retire, stood looking
on in silent amazement.

The old gentleman was a very respectable-looking
personage, with a powdered head and gold specta
cles. He was dressed in a bottle-green coat with a
black velvet collar ; wore white trowsers ; and car
ried a smart bamboo cane under his arm. He had
taken up a book from the stall, and there he stood,
reading away as hard as if he were in his elbow-
chair in his own study. It is very possible that he
fancied himself there, indeed ; for it was plain, from
his abstraction, that he saw not the book-stall, nor
the street, nor the boys, nor, in short, any thing
but the book itself, which he was reading straight
through, turning over the leaf when he got to the

OUT FOR A WALK.

bottom of a page, beginning at the top line of the
next one, and going regularly on, with the greatest
interest and eagerness.

What was Oliver's horror and alarm as he stood a
few paces off, looking on with his eyelids as wide
open as they would possibly go, to see the Dodger
plunge his hand into the old gentleman's pocket,
and draw from thence a handkerchief! To see him
hand the same to Charley Bates ; and finally to be
hold them both running away round the corner at
full speed !

In an instant the whole mystery of the handker
chiefs, and the watches, and the jewels, and the Jew,

But the old gentleman was not the only person
who raised the hue-aud-cry. The Dodger and Mas
ter Bates, unwilling to attract public attention by
running down the open street, had" merely retired
into the very first door-way round the corner. They
no sooner heard the cry, and saw Oliver running,
than, guessing exactly how the matter stood, they
issued forth with great promptitude; and, shouting
" Stop thief!" too, joined in the pursuit like good cit
izens.

Although Oliver had been brought Tip by philos
ophers, he was not theoretically acquainted with the
beautiful axiom that self-preservation is the first law

" STOP TllIKi' 1 ."

rushed upon the boy's mind. He stood, for . a mo
ment, with the blood so tingling through all his
veins from terror, that he felt as if he were in a
burning fire ; then, confused and frightened, he took
to his heels ; and, not knowing what he did, made
off as fast as he could lay his feet to the ground.

This was all done in a minute's space. In the
very instant when Oliver began to run, the old gen
tleman, putting his band to his pocket, and miss
ing his handkerchief, turned sharp round. Seeing
the boy scudding away at such a rapid pace, he very
natiirally concluded him to be the depredator ; and,
shouting "Stop thief!" with all his might, made off
after him, book in hand.

of nature. If he had been, perhaps he would have
been prepared for this. Not being prepared, how
ever, it alarmed him the more ; so away he went like
the wind, with the old gentleman and the two boys
roaring and shouting behind him.

" Stop thief! Stop thief!" There is a magic in
the sound. The tradesman leaves his counter, and
the carman his wagon; the butcher throws down
his tray ; the baker his basket ;. the milkman his
pail ; the errand-boy his parcels ; the school-boy his
marbles ; the pavior his pick-axe ; the child his bat-
tledoor. Away they run, pell-mell, helter-skelter,
slap -dash: tearing, yelling, screaming, knocking
down the passengers as they turn the corners, rous-

OLIVER TWIST.

ing up the dogs, and astonishing the fowls; and
streets, squares, and courts, re-echo with the sound.

" Stop thief! Stop thief!" The cry is taken up
by a hundred voices, and the crowd accumulate at
every turning. Away they fly, splashing through
the mud, and rattling along the pavements : up go
the windows, out run the people, onward bear the
mob a whole audience desert Punch in the very
thickest of the plot, and, joining the rushing throng,
swell the shout, and lend fresh vigor to the cry, " Stop
thief! Stop thief!"

"Stop thief I" Stop thief!" There is a passion
for hunting something deeply implanted in the human
breast. One wretched breathless child, panting with
exhaustion ; terror in his looks ; agony in his eyes ;
large drops of perspiration streaming down his face ;
strains every nerve to make head upon his pursuers ;
and as they follow on his track, and gain upon him
every instant, they hail his decreasing strength with
still louder shouts, and whoop and scream with joy.
" Stop thief!" Ay, stop him, for God's sake, were it
only in mercy !

Stopped at last! A clever blow. He is down
upon the pavement ; and the crowd eagerly gather
round him : each new-comer jostling and struggling
with the others to catch a glimpse. " Stand aside !"
"Give him a little air!" "Nonsense! he don't de
serve it !" " Where's the gentleman f" " Here he
is, coming down the street." " Make room there for
the gentleman !" " Is this the boy, sir ?" " Yes."

Oliver lay, covered with mud and dust, and bleed
ing from the mouth, looking wildly round upon the
heap of faces that surrounded him, when the old
gentleman was officiously dragged and pushed into
the circle by the foremost of the pursuers.

" Yes," said the gentleman, " I am afraid it is the
boy."

"Afraid!" murmured the crowd. "That's a good
'un !"

" Poor fellow !" said the gentleman, " he has hurt
himself."

" / did that, sir," said a great lubberly fellow, step
ping forward ; " and preciously I cut my knuckle
agin' his mouth. I stopped him, sir."

The fellow touched his hat with a grin, expecting
something for his pains ; but the old gentleman, ey
ing him with an expression of dislike, looked anx
iously round, as if he contemplated running away
himself: which it is very possible he might have at-
.tempted to do, and thus have afforded another chase,
had not a police officer (who is generally the last per
son to arrive in such cases) at that moment made
his way through the crowd, and seized Oliver by
the collar.

" Come, get up," said the man, roughly.

" It wasn't me indeed, sir. Indeed, indeed, it was
two other boys," said Oliver, clasping his hands pas
sionately, and looking round. " They are here some
where."

" Oh no, they ain't," said the officer. He meant
this to be ironical, but it was true besides ; for the
Dodger and Charley Bates had filed off down the first
convenient court they came to. " Come, get up !"

" Don't hurt him," said the old gentleman, compas
sionately.

" Oh no, I won't hurt him," replied the officer,

tearing his jacket half off his back, in proof thereof.
" Come, I kuow you ; it won't do. Will you stand
upon your legs, you young devil ?"

Oliver,' who could hardly stand, made a shift to
raise himself on his feet, and was at once lugged
along the streets by the jacket-collar at a rapid pace.
The gentleman walked on with them by the officer's
side ; and as many of the crowd as could achieve the
feat got a little ahead, and stared back at Oliver
from time to time. The boys shouted in triumph ;
and on they went.

CHAPTER XI.

TKEATS OF MR. FANG, THE POLICE MAGISTRATE ; AND
FURNISHES A SLIGHT SPECIMEN OF HIS MODE OF AD
MINISTERING JUSTICE.

THHE offense had been committed within the dis-
JL trict, and indeed in the immediate neighborhood
of, a very notorious metropolitan police office. The
crowd had only the satisfaction of accompanying Ol
iver through two or three streets, and down a place
called Mutton Hill, when he was led beneath a low
archway, and up a dirty court, into this dispensary
of summary justice, by the back way. It was a small
paved yard into which they turned ; and here they
encountered a stout man with a bunch of whiskers
on his face, and a bunch of keys in his hand.

"What's the matter now?" said the man carelessly.

"A young fogle-hunter," replied the man w r ho had
Oliver in charge.

"Are you the party that's been robbed, sir?" in
quired the man with the keys.

" Yes, I am," replied the old gentleman ; " but I
am not sure that this boy actually took the hand
kerchief. I I would rather not press the case."

" Must go before the magistrate now, sir," replied
the man. " His worship will be disengaged in half
a minute. Now, young gallows !"

This was an invitation for Oliver to enter through
a door which he unlocked as he spoke, and which
led into a stone cell. Here he was searched, and,
nothing being found upon him, locked up.

This cell was in shape and size something like an
area cellar, only not so light. It was most intolera
bly dirty ; for it was Monday morning ; and it had
been tenanted by six drunken people, who had been
locked up, elsewhere, since Saturday night. But this
is little. In our station-houses, men and women are
every night confined on the most trivial charges
the word is worth noting in dungeons, compared
with which, those in Newgate, occupied by the most
atrocious felons, tried, found guilty, and under sen
tence of death, are palaces. Let any one who doubts
this compare the two.

The old gentleman looked almost as rueful as Oli
ver when the key grated in the lock. He turned
with a sigh to the book, which had been the innocent
cause of all this disturbance.

" There is something in that boy's face," said the
old gentleman to himself as he walked slowly away,
tapping his chin with the cover of the book, in a
thoughtful manner; "something that touches and
interests me. Can he be innocent ? He looked like.

TAKEN INTO CUSTODY.

By-tlie-bye," exclaimed the old gentleman, halting
very abruptly, and staring up into the sky, " Bless
my soul! Where have I seen something like that
look before ?"

After musing for some minutes, the old gentleman
walked, with the same meditative face, into a back
anteroom opening from the yard; and there, retir
ing into a corner, called up before his mind's eye a
vast amphitheatre of faces over which a dusky cur
tain had hung for many years. " No," said the old
gentleman, shaking his head ; " it must be imagina
tion."

He wandered over them again. He had called
them into view, and it was not easy to replace the
shroud that had so long concealed them. There were
the faces of friends, and foes, and of many that had
been almost strangers peering intrusively from the
crowd ; there were the faces of young and blooming
girls that were now old women ; there were faces
that the grave had changed and closed upon, but
which the mind, superior to its power, still dressed
in their old freshness and beauty, calling back the
lustre of the eyes, the brightness of the smile, the
beaming of the soul through its mask of clay, and
whispering of beauty beyond the tomb, changed but
to be heightened, and taken from earth only to be set
up as a light, to shed a soft and gentle glow upon
the path to heaven.

But the old gentleman could recall no one counte
nance of which Oliver's features bore a trace. So,
he heaved a sigh over the recollections he had awak
ened ; and being, happily for himself, an absent old
gentleman, buried them again in the pages of the
musty book.

He was roused by a touch on the shoulder, and a
request from the man with the keys to follow him
into the office. He closed his book hastily, and was
at once ushered into the imposing presence of the
renowned Mr. Fang.

The office was a front parlor, with a paneled wall.
Mr. Fang sat behind a bar, at the upper end ; and on
one side the door was a sort of wooden pen in which
poor little Oliver was already deposited ; trembling
very much at the awfulness of the scene.

Mr. Fang was a lean, long-backed, stiff-necked,
middle-sized man, with no great quantity of hair,
and what he had, growing on the back and sides of
his head. His face was stern, and much flushed. If
he were really not in the habit of drinking rather
more than was exactly good for him, he might have
brought an action against his countenance for libel,
and have recovered heavy damages.

The old gentleman bowed respectfully ; and ad
vancing to the magistrate's desk, said, suiting the
action to the word, " That is my name and address,
sir." He then withdrew a pace or two ; and, with
another polite and gentlemanly inclination of the
head, waited to be questioned.

Now, it so happened that Mr. Fang was at that
moment perusing a leading article in a newspaper
of the morning, adverting to some recent decision of
his, and commending him, for the three hundred and
fiftieth time, to the special and particular notice of
the Secretary of State for the Home Department.
He was out of temper; and he looked up with an
angry scowl.

"Who are you ?" said Mr. Fang.

The old gentleman pointed, with some surprise, to
his card.

"Officer!" said Mr. Fang, tossing the card con
temptuously away with the newspaper. "Who is
this fellow f '

" My name, sir," said the old gentleman, speaking
like a gentleman, " my name, sir, is Brownlow. Per
mit me to inquire the name of the magistrate who
offers a gratuitous and unprovoked insult to a re
spectable person, under the protection of the bench."
Saying this, Mr. Brownlow looked round the office
as if in search of some person who would afford him
the required information.

" Officer !" said Mr. Fang, throwing the paper on
one side, " what's this fellow charged with ?"

" He's not charged at all, your worship," replied
the officer. " He appears against the boy, your wor
ship."

His worship knew this perfectly well ; but it was
a good annoyance, and a safe one.

"Appears against the boy, does he?" said Fang,
surveying Mr. Brownlow contemptuously from head
to foot. " Swear him !"

" Before I am sworn, I must beg to say one word,"
said Mr. Brownlow : " and that is, that I really nev
er, without actual experience, could have believed :

" Hold your tongue, sir," said Mr. Fang, peremp
torily.

" I will not, sir !" replied the old gentleman.

" Hold your tongue this instant, or I'll have you
turned out of the office !" said Mr. Fang. " You're
an insolent, impertinent fellow. How dare you bully
a magistrate ?"

"What!" exclaimed the old gentleman, redden-
jng.

" Swear this person," said Fang to the clerk. " I'll
not hear another word. Swear him."

Mr. Browulow's indignation was greatly roused ;
but reflecting, perhaps, that he might only injure the
boy by giving vent to it, he suppressed his feelings
and submitted to be sworn at once.

"Now," said Fang, "what's the charge against
this boy ? What have you got to say, Sir ?"

" I was standing at a book-stall " Mr. Brownlow
began.

" Hold your tongue, sir," said Mr. Fang. " Police
man ! Where's the policeman ? Here, swear this
policeman. Now, policeman, what is this ?"

The policeman, with becoming humility, related
how he had taken the charge ; how he had searched
Oliver, and found nothing on his person ; and how
that was all he knew about it.

" Are there any witnesses ?" inquired Mr. Fang.

" None, your worship," replied the policeman.

Mr. Fang sat silent for some minutes, and then,
turning round to the prosecutor, said in a towering
passion,

" Do you mean to state what your complaint against
this boy is, man, or do yon not ? You have been
sworn. Now, if you stand there, refusing to give
evidence, I'll punish you for disrespect to the bench ;
I will, by"

By what, or by whom, nobody knows, for the clerk
and jailer coughed very loud, just at the right mo
ment ; and the former dropped a heavy book upon

OLIVER TWIST.

the floor, thus preventing the word from being
heard accidentally, of course.

With many interruptions, and repeated insults,
Mr. Brownlow contrived to state his case ; observing
that, in the surprise of the moment, he had run after
the boy because he saw him running away ; and ex
pressing his hope that, if the magistrate should be
lieve him, although not actually the thief, to be con
nected with thieves, he would deal as leniently with
him as justice would allow.

" He has been hurt already," said the old gentle
man, in conclusion. "And I fear," he added, with
great energy, looking toward the bar, " I really fear
that he is ill."

" Oh ! yes, I dare say !" said Mr. Fang, with a sneer.
" Come, none of your tricks here, you young vaga
bond ; they won't do. What's your name ?"

Oliver tried to reply, but his tongue failed him.
He was deadly pale ; and the whole place seemed
turning round and round.

" What's your name, you hardened scoundrel ?" de
manded Mr. Fang. " Officer, what's his name ?"

This was addressed to a bluff old fellow in a striped
waistcoat, who was standing by the bar. He bent
over Oliver, and repeated the inquiry ; but finding
him really incapable of understanding the question,
and knowing that his not replying would only in
furiate the magistrate the more, and add to the se
verity of his sentence, he hazarded a guess.

" He says his name's Tom White, your worship,"
said this kind-hearted thief-taker.

"Oh, he won't speak out, won't he ?" said Fang.
" Very well, very well. Where does he live ?"

" Where he can, your worship," replied the officer ;
again pretending to receive Oliver's answer.

" Has he any parents ?" inquired Mr. Fang. ,

" He says they died in his infancy, your worship,"
replied the officer, hazarding the usual reply.

At this point of the inquiry, Oliver raised his head ;
and, looking round with imploring eyes, murmured
a feeble prayer for a draught of water.

" Stuff and nonsense !" said Mr. Fang : " don't try
to make a fool of me."

" I think he really is ill, your worship," remon
strated the officer.

" I know better," said Mr. Fang.

" Take care of him, officer," said the old gentle
man, raising his hands instinctively; "he'll fall
down."

" Stand away, officer," cried Fang ; " let him, if
he likes."

Oliver availed himself of the kind permission, and
fell to the floor in a fainting fit. The men in the of
fice looked at each other, but no one dared to stir.

" I knew he was shamming," said Fang, as if this
were incontestable proof of the fact. " Let him lie
there ; he'll soon be tired of that."

" How do you propose to deal with the case, sir ?"
inquired the clerk in a low voice.

" Summarily," replied Mr. Fang. " He stands com
mitted for three months hard labor, of course.
Clear the office."

The door was opened for this purpose, and a cou
ple of men were preparing to carry the insensible
boy to his cell ; when an elderly man of decent but
poor appearance, clad in an old suit of black, rushed

hastily into the office, and advanced toward the
bench.

" Stop, stop ! Don't take him away ! For Heav
en's sake stop a moment!" cried the new-comer,
breathless with haste.

Although the presiding Genii in such an office as
this exercise a summary and arbitrary power over
the liberties, the good name, the character, almost
the lives, of Her Majesty's subjects, especially of the
poorer class ; and although, within such walls,
enough fantastic tricks are daily played to make the
angels blind Avith weeping ; they are closed to the
public, save through the medium of the daily press.*
Mr. Fang was consequently not a little indignant to
see an unbidden guest enter in such irreverent dis
order.

" What is this ? Who is this ? Turn this man
out. Clear the office !" cried Mr. Fang.

" I will speak," cried the man ; " I will not be
turned out. I saw it all. I keep the book -stall. I
demand to be sworn. I will not be put down. Mr.
Fang, you must hear me. You must not refuse, sir."

The man was right. His manner was determined ;
and the matter was growing rather too serious to be
hushed up.

" Swear the man," growled Mr. Fang, with a very
ill grace. " Now, man, what have you got to say ?"

"This," said the man: "I saw three boys two
others and the prisoner here loitering on the oppo
site side of the way, when this gentleman was read
ing. The robbery was committed by another boy.
I saw it done ; and I saw that this boy was perfect
ly amazed and stupefied by it." Having by this
time recovered a little breath, the worthy book-stall
keeper proceeded to relate, in a more coherent man
ner, the exact circumstances of the robbery.

" Why didn't you come here before ?" said Fang,
after a pause.

"I hadn't a soul to mind the shop," replied the
man. " Every body who could have helped me had
joined in the pursuit. I could get nobody till five
minutes ago ; and I have run here all the way."

" The prosecutor was reading, was he ?" inquired
Fang, after another pause.

" Yes," replied the man. " The very book he has
in his hand."

" Oh, that book, eh ?" said Fang. " Is it paid for ?"

" No, it is not," replied the man, with a smile.

" Dear me, I forgot all about it !" exclaimed the
absent old gentleman, innocently.

" A nice person to prefer a charge against a poor
boy !" said Fang, with a comical effort to look mi- .
mane. " I consider, sir, that you have obtained pos
session of that book under very suspicious and dis
reputable circumstances ; and you may think your
self very fortunate that the owTier of the property
declines to prosecute. Let this be a lesson to you,
my man, or the law will overtake you yet. The boy
is discharged. Clear the office."

" D n me !" cried the old gentleman, bursting out
with the rage he had kept down so long, " d n me !
I'll"

" Clear the office !" said the magistrate. " Officers,
do you hear ? Clear the office !"

* Or were virtually, then.

GETTING BETTER.

The maudate was obeyed ; and the indignant Mr.
Brownlow was conveyed out, with the book in one
hand and the bamboo cane in the other, in a per
fect frenzy of rage and defiance. He reached the
yard ; and his passion vanished in a moment. Little
Oliver Twist lay on his back on the pavement, with
his shirt unbuttoned, and his temples bathed with
water ; his face a deadly white ; and a cold tremble
convulsing his whole frame.

" Poor boy ! poor boy !" said Mr. Brownlow, bend
ing over him. " Call a coach, somebody, pray. Di
rectly!"

A coach was obtained, and Oliver, having been
carefully laid on one seat, the old gentleman got in
and sat himself on the other.

" May I accompany you I" said the book-stall keep
er, looking in.

" Bless me, yes, my dear sir," said Mr. Brownlow
quickly. "I forgot you. Dear, dear! I have this
unhappy book still! Jump in. Poor fellow! There's
no time to lose."

The book-stall keeper got into the coach ; and
away they drove.

CHAPTER XII.

IN WHICH OLIVER IS TAKEN BETTER CARE OF THAN HE
EVER WAS BEFORE. AND IN WHICH THE NARRATIVE
REVERTS TO THE MEBKY OLD GENTLEMAN AND HIS
YOUTHFUL FRIENDS.

THE coach rattled away, over nearly the same
ground as that which Oliver had traversed when
he first entered London in company with the Dodger ;
and, turning a different way when it reached the
Angel at Islington, stopped at length before a neat
house, in a quiet shady street near Pentonville.
Here a bed was prepared, without loss of time, in
which Mr. Brownlow saw his young charge carefully
and comfortably deposited ; and here he was tended
with a kindness and solicitude that knew no bounds.

But, for many days, Oliver remained insensible to
all the goodness of his new friends. The sun rose
and sank, and rose and sank again, and many times
after that ; and still the boy lay stretched on his un
easy bed, dwindling away beneath the dry and wast
ing heat of fever. The worm does not his work more
surely on the dead body, than does this slow creeping
fire upon the living frame.

Weak, and thin, and pallid, he awoke at last from
what seemed to have been a long and troubled dream.
Feebly raising hinvelf in the bed, with his head rest
ing on his trembling arm, he looked anxiously around.

" What room is this ? Where have I been brought
to ?" said Oliver. " This is not the place I went to
sleep in."

He uttered these words in a feeble voice, being
very faint and weak ; but they were overheard at
once. The curtain at the bed's head was hastily
drawn back, and a motherly old lady, very neatly
and precisely dressed, rose, as she undrew it, from an
arm-chair close by, in which she had been sitting at
needle-work.

" Hush, my dear," said the old lady, softly. " Yon
must be very quiet, or you will be ill again ; and you

have been very bad as bad as bad could be, pretty
nigh. Lie down again ; there's a dear !" With those
words, the old lady very gently placed Oliver's head
upon the pillow ; and, smoothing back his hair from
his forehead, looked so kind and lovingly in his face,
that he could not help placing his little withered
hand in hers, and drawing it round his neck.

" Save us !" said the old lady, with tears in her
eyes, " What a grateful little dear it is ! Pretty
creetur ! What would his mother feel if she had sat
by him as I have, and could see him now !"

" Perhaps she does see me," whispered Oliver, fold
ing his hands together; "perhaps she has sat by me.
I almost feel as if she had."

" That was the fever, my dear," said the old lady,
mildly.

" I suppose it was," replied Oliver, " because heav
en is a long way off; and they are too happy there,
to come down to the bedside of a poor boy. But if
she knew I was ill, she must have pitied me, even
there ; for she was very ill herself before she died.
She can't know any thing about me, though," added
Oliver, after a moment's silence. " If she had seen
me hurt, it would have made her sorrowful ; and her
face has always looked sweet and happy, when I
have dreamed of her."

The old lady made no reply to this ; but wiping
her tears first, and her spectacles, which lay on the
counterpane, afterward, as if they were part and
parcel of those features, brought some cool stuff 1 for
Oliver to drink ; and then, patting him on the cheek,
told him he must lie very quiet, or he would be ill
again.

So Oliver kept very still ; partly because he was
anxious to obey the kind old lady in all things ; and
partly, to tell the truth, because he was completely
exhausted with what he had already said. He soon
fell into a gentle doze, from which he was awakened
by the light of a candle ; which, being brought near
the bed, showed him a gentleman with a very large
and loud-ticking gold watch in his hand, who felt
his pulse, and said he was a great deal better.

" You are a great deal better, are you not, my
dear ?" said the gentleman.

" Yes, thank you, sir," replied Oliver.

" Yes, I know you are," said the gentleman.
" You're hungry too, ain't you ?"

" No, sir," answered Oliver.

" Hem !" said the gentleman. " No, I know you're
not. He is not hungry, Mrs. Bed win," said the gen
tleman, looking very wise.

The old lady made a respectful inclination of the
head, which seemed to say that she thought the doc
tor was a very clever man. The doctor appeared
much of the same opinion himself.

" You feel sleepy, don't you, my dear ?" said the
doctor.

" No, sir," replied Oliver.

"No," said the doctor, with a very shrewd and
satisfied look. "You are not sleepy. Nor thirsty.
Are you ?"

" Yes, sir, rather thirsty," answered Oliver.

" Just as I expected, Mrs. Bedwin," said the doc
tor. " It's very natural that he should be thirsty.
You may give him a little tea, ma'am, and some dry
toast without any butter. Don't keep him too warm,

OLIVER TWIST.

ina'am ; but be careful that you don't let Mm be too
coltl ; will you have the goodness ?"

The old lady dropped a courtesy. The doctor, af
ter tasting the cool stuff, and expressing a qualified
approval of it, hurried away, his boots creaking in
a very important and wealthy manner as he went
down stairs.

Oliver dozed off again soon after this ; when he
awoke, it was nearly twelve o'clock. The old lady
tenderly bade him good-night shortly afterward, and
left him in charge of a fat old woman who had just
come ; bringing with her, in a little bundle, a small
Prayer-book and a large night-cap. Putting the lat
ter on her head and the former on the table, the old
woman, after telling Oliver that she had come to sit
up with him, drew her chair close to the fire and
went off into a series of short naps, checkered at fre
quent intervals with sundry tumblings forward, and
divers moans and chokiugs. These, however, had
no w r orse effect than causing her to rub her nose
very hard, and then fall asleep again.

And thus the night crept slowly on. Oliver lay
awake for some time, counting the little circles of
light which the reflection of the rush-light shade
threw upon the ceiling, or tracing with his languid
eyes the intricate pattern of the paper on the wall.
The darkness and the deep stillness of the room were
very solemn: as they brought into the boy's mind
the thought that death had been hovering there, for
many days and nights, and might yet fill it with
the gloom and dread of his awful presence, he turn
ed his face upon the pillow, and fervently prayed to
Heaven.

Gradually he fell into that deep tranquil sleep
which ease from recent suffering alone imparts ; that
calm and peaceful rest which it is pain to wake from.
Who, if this were death, would be roused again to all
the struggles and turmoils of life ; to all its cares for
the present, its anxieties for the future ; more than
all, its weary recollections of the past !

It had been bright day for hours, when Oliver
opened his eyes ; he felt cheerful and happy. The
crisis of the disease was safely past. He belonged
to the world again.

In three days' time he was able to sit in an easy-
chair, well propped up with pillows ; and, as he was
still too weak to walk, Mrs. Bedwin had him carried
down stairs into the little housekeeper's room, which
belonged to her. Having him set here, by the fire
side, the good old lady sat herself down too ; and,
being in a state of considerable delight at seeing
him so much better, forthwith began to cry most
violently.

" Never mind me, my dear," said the old lady.
"I'm only having a regular good cry. There; it's
all over now ; and I'm quite comfortable."

" You're very, very kind to me, ma'am," said Oliver.

""Well, never you mind that, my dear," said the
old lady ; " that's got nothing to do with your broth ;
and it's full time you had it ; for the doctor says Mr.
Brownlow may come in to see you this morning, and
Ave must get up our best looks, because the better we
look the more he'll be pleased." And with this, the
old lady applied herself to warming up, in a little
saucepan, a basinful of broth, strong enough, Oliver
thought, to furnish an ample dinner, when reduced

to the regulation strength, for three hundred and
fifty paupers, at the lowest computation.

"Are you fond of pictures, dear?" inquired the
old lady, seeing that Oliver had fixed his eyes, most
intently, on a portrait which hung against the wall,
just opposite his chair.

" I don't quite know, ma'am," said Oliver, without
taking his eyes from the canvas ; " I have seen so few
that I hardly know. What a beautiful, mild face
that lady's is !"

" All !" said the old lady, " painters always make
ladies out prettier than they are, or they wouldn't
get any custom, child. The man that invented the
machine for taking likenesses might have known
that would never succeed; it's a deal too honest.
A deal," said the old lady, laughing very heartily at
her own acuteuess.

" Is is that a likeness, ma'am ?" said Oliver.

" Yes," said the old lady, looking up for a moment
from the broth ; " that's a portrait."

" Whose, ma'am ?" asked Oliver.

" Why, really, my dear, I don't know," answered
the old lady, in a good-humored manner. " It's not
a likeness of any body that you or I know, I expect.
It seems to strike your fancy, dear."

" It is so very pretty," replied Oliver.

" Why, sure you're not afraid of it ?" said the old
lady ; observing, in great surprise, the look of awe
with which the child regarded the painting.

" Oh, no, no!" returned Oliver, quickly ; " but the
eyes look so sorrowful ; and where I sit, they seem
fixed upon me. It makes my heart beat," added
Oliver in a low voice, " as if it was alive, and wanted
to speak to me, but couldn't."

"Lord save us!" exclaimed the old lady, start
ing ; " don't talk in that way, child, You're weak
and nervous after your illness. Let me wheel your
chair round to the other side ; and then you won't
see it. There !" said the old lady, suiting the action
to the word ; " you don't see it now, at all events."

Oliver did see it in his mind's eye as distinctly as
if he had not altered his position; but he thought it
better not to worry the kind old lady ; so he smiled
gently when she looked at him ; and Mrs. Bedwin,
satisfied that he felt more comfortable, salted and
broke bits of toasted bread into the broth, with all
the bustle befitting so solemn a preparation. Oliver
got through it with extraordinary expedition. He
had scarcely swallowed the last spoonful, when there
came a soft rap at the door. " Come in," said the old
lady ; and in walked Mr. Brownlow.

Now, the old gentleman came in as brisk as need
be ; but he had no sooner raised his spectacles on his
forehead, and thrust his hands behind the skirts of
his dressing-gown to take a good long look at Oliver,
than his countenance underwent a very great variety
of odd contortions. Oliver looked very worn and
shadowy from sickness, and made an ineffectual at
tempt to stand up, out of respect to his benefactor,
which terminated in his sinking back into the chair
again ; and the fact is, if the truth must be told, that
Mr. Browulow's heart, being large enough for any six
ordinary old gentlemen of humane disposition, forced
a supply of tears into his eyes, by some hydraulic
process which we are not sufficiently philosophical to
be in a condition to explain.

BETTER AND BETTER.

" Poor boy ! poor boy !" said Sir. Brownlow, clear
ing his throat. " I'm rather hoarse this morning,
Mrs. Bedwiii. I'm afraid I have caught cold."

" I hope riot, sir," said Sirs. Bedwin. " Every thing
you have had has been well aired, sir."

" I don't know, Bedwin. I don't know," said Mr.
Brownlow ; " I rather think I had a damp napkin at
dinner-time yesterday ; but never mind that. How
do you feel, my dear f '

"Very happy, sir," replied Oliver. "And very
grateful indeed, sir, for your goodness to me."

" Good boy," said Sir. Browulow, stoutly. " Have
you given him any nourishment, Bedwiu ? An y slops,
eh?"

" He has just had a basin of beautiful strong broth,
sir," replied Sirs. Bedwiu ; drawing herself up slight
ly, and laying a strong emphasis on the last word,
to intimate that between slops and broth well com
pounded there existed no affinity or connection what
soever.

" Ugh !" said Sir. Brownlow, with a slight shud
der ; " a couple of glasses of port-wine would have
done him a great deal more good. Wouldn't they,
Tom White, <-h .'''

" Sly name is Oliver, sir," replied the little invalid :
with a look of great astonishment.

" Oliver," said Sir. Brownlow ; " Oliver what ? Ol
iver White, eh ?"

"No, sir; Twist Oliver Twist."

" Queer name !" said the old gentleman. " What
made you tell the magistrate your name was White ?"

"I never told him so, sir," returned Oliver, in
amazement.

This sounded so like a falsehood, that the old gen
tleman looked somewhat sternly in Oliver's face. It
was impossible to doubt him ; there was truth in ev
ery one of its thin and sharpened lineaments.

" Some mistake," said Sir. Brownlow. But, al
though his motive for looking steadily at Oliver no
longer existed, the old idea of the resemblance be
tween his features and some familiar face came upon
him so strongly, that he could not withdraw his
gaze.

" I hope you are not angry with me, sir ?" said Ol
iver, raising his eyes beseechingly.

"No, no," replied the old gentleman. "Why!
what's this ? Bedwin, look there !"

As he spoke, he pointed hastily to the picture
above Oliver's head, and then to the boy's face.
There was its living copy. The eyes, the head, the
mouth every feature was the same. The expres
sion was, for the instant, so precisely alike, that the
minutest line seemed copied with startling accuracy !

Oliver knew not the cause of this sudden excla
mation ; for, not being strong enough to bear the
start it gave him, he fainted away. A weakness on
his part, which affords the narrative an opportunity
of relieving the reader from suspense, in behalf of
the two young pupils of the Slerry Old Gentleman ;
and of recording

That when the Dodger, and his accomplished friend
Slastcr Bates, joined in the hue-and-cry which was
raised at Oliver's heels, in consequence of their exe
cuting an illegal conveyance of Sir. Brownlow's per
sonal property, as has been already described, they
were actuated by a very laudable and becoming re

gard for themselves ; and forasmuch as the freedom
of the subject and the liberty of the individual are
among the first and proudest boasts of a true-hearted
Englishman, so, I need hardly beg the reader to ob
serve, that this action should tend to exalt them in
the opinion of all public and patriotic men, in almost
as great a degree as this strong proof of their anxi
ety for their own preservation and safety goes to
corroborate and confirm the little code of laws which
certain profound and sound -judging philosophers
have laid down as the mainsprings of all Nature's
deeds and actions ; the said philosophers very wisely
reducing the good lady's proceedings to matters of
maxim and theory, and, by a very neat and pretty
compliment to her exalted wisdom and understand
ing, putting entirely out of sight any considerations
of heart, or generous impulse and feeling. For these
are matters totally beneath a female who is acknowl
edged by universal admission to be far above the nu
merous little foibles and weaknesses of her sex.

If I wanted any further proof of the strictly phil
osophical nature of the conduct of these young gen
tlemen in their very delicate predicament, I should
at once find it in the fact (also recorded in a forego
ing part of this narrative), of their quitting the pur
suit, when the general attention was fixed upon Oli
ver ; and making immediately for their home by the
shortest possible cut. Although I do not mean to
assert that it is usually the practice of renowned and
learned sages to shorten the road to any great con
clusion (their course, indeed, being rather to length
en the distance, by various circumlocutions and dis
cursive staggerings, like unto those in which drunk
en men under the pressure of a too mighty flow of
ideas, are prone to indulge) ; still, I do mean to say,
and do say distinctly, that it is the invariable prac
tice of many mighty philosophers, in carrying out their
theories, to evince great wisdom and foresight in pro
viding against every possible contingency which can
be supposed at all likely to affect themselves. Thus,
to do a great right, you may do a little wrong ; and
you may take any means which the end to be at
tained will justify; the amount of the right, or the
amount of the wrong, or, indeed, the distinction be
tween the two, being left entirely to the philosopher
concerned, to be settled and determined by his clear,
comprehensive, and impartial view of his own par
ticular case.

It was not until the two boys had scoured, with
great rapidity, through a most intricate maze of nar
row streets and courts, that they ventured to halt
beneath a low and dark archway. Having remain
ed silent here, just long enough to recover breath
to speak, Master Bates uttered an exclamation of
amusement and delight ; and, bursting into an un
controllable fit of laughter, flung himself upon a door
step, and rolled thereon in a transport of mirth.

" What's the matter ?" inquired the Dodger.

" Ha ! ha ! ha !" roared Charley Bates.

" Hold your noise," remonstrated the Dodger, look
ing cautiously round. " Do you want to be grabbed,
stupid?"

" I can't help it," said Charley, " I can't help it !
To see him splitting away at that pace, and cutting
round the corners, and knocking up again the posts,
and starting on again as if he was made of iron as

OLIVER TWIST.

well as them, and me with the wipe in my pocket,
singing out arter him oh, my eye !" The vivid im
agination of Master Bates presented the scene before
him in too strong colors. As he arrived at this apos
trophe, he again rolled upon the door-step, and laugh
ed louder than before.

" What'll Fagin say ?" inquired the Dodger ; tak
ing advantage of the next interval of breathlessness
on the part of his friend to propound the question.

"What ?" repeated Charley Bates.

" Ah, what ?" said the Dodger.

" Why, what should he say ?" inquired Charley,
stopping rather suddenly in his merriment ; for the
Dodger's manner was impressive. " What should
he say ?"

Mr. Dawkins whistled for a couple of minutes;

The noise of footsteps on the creaking stairs, a few
minutes after the occurrence of this conversation,
roused the merry old gentleman as he sat over the
fire with a saveloy and a small loaf in his left hand ;
a pocket-knife in his right ; and a pewter pot on the
trivet. There was a rascally smile on his white face
as he turned round, and, looking sharply out from
under his thick red eyebrows, bent his ear toward
the door, and listened.

"Why, how's this?" muttered the Jew, changing
countenance ; " only two of 'em ? Where's the third I
They can't have got into trouble. Hark !"

The footsteps approached nearer; they reached
the landing. The door was slowly opened ; and the
Dodger and Charley Bates entered, closing it behind
them.

1 WHAT'S BECOME OF THE BOY ?"

then, taking off his hat, scratched his head, and nod
ded thrice.

" What do you mean ?" said Charley.

" Toor ml lol loo, gammon and spinnage, the frog
he wouldn't, and high cockolornm," said the Dodger,
with a slight sneer on his intellectual countenance.

This was explanatory, but not satisfactory. Mas
ter Bates felt it so ; and again said, " What do you
mean ?"

The Dodger made no reply ; but putting his hat
on again, and gathering the skirts of his long-tailed
coat under his arm, thrust his tongue into his cheek,
slapped the bridge of his nose some half-dozen times
in a familiar but expressive manner, and, turning on
his heel, slunk down the court. Master Bates fol
lowed with a thoughtful countenance.

CHAPTER XIII.

SOME NEW ACQUAINTANCES ABE INTRODUCED TO THE
INTELLIGENT READER, CONNECTED WITH WHOM VARI
OUS PLEASANT MATTERS ARE RELATED APPERTAINING
TO THIS HISTORY.

" TTTHERE'S Oliver ?" said the Jew, rising with a
VV menacing look. " Where's the boy ?"
The young thieves eyed their preceptor as if they
were alarmed at his violence; and looked uneasily
at each other. But they made no reply.

" What's become of the boy ?" said the Jew, seiz
ing the Dodger tightly by the collar, and threaten
ing him with horrid imprecations. " Speak out, or
I'll throttle you!"

Mr. Fagiu looked so very much in earnest, that

A NEW ACQUAINTANCE.

Charley Bates, -who deemed it prudent in all cases
to be on the safe side, and who conceived it hy no
means improbable that it might be his turn to be
throttled second, dropped upon his knees, and raised
a loud, well-sustained, and continuous roar some
thing between a mad bull and a speaking-trumpet.

" Will you speak ?" thundered the Jew : shaking
the Dodger so much that his keeping in the big coat
at all seemed perfectly miraculous.

" Why, the traps have got him, and that's all about
it," said the Dodger, sullenly. " Come, let go o' me,
will yon !'' And, swinging himself, at one jerk, clean
out of the big coat, which he left in the Jew's hands,
the Dodger snatched up the toasting-fork and made a
pass at the merry old gentleman's waistcoat ; which,
if it had taken effect, would have let a little more
merriment out than could have been easily replaced.

The Jew stepped back in this emergency, with
more agility than could have been anticipated in a
man of his apparent decrepitude ; and, seizing up the
pot, prepared to hurl it at his assailant's head. But
Charley Bates, at this moment, calling his attention
by a perfectly terrific howl, he suddenly altered its
destination, and flung it full at that young gentle
man.

" Why, what the blazes is in the wind now ?"
growled a deep voice. "W T ho pitched that 'ere at
me ? It's well it's the beer, and not the pot, as hit
me, or I'd have settled somebody. I might have
know'd, as nobody but an infernal, rich, plundering,
thundering old Jew could afford to throw away any
drink but water and not that, unless he done the
River Company every quarter. Wot's it all about,
Fagin ? D me, if my neck-handkercher an't lined
with beer ! Come in, you sneaking warmint ! wot
are you stopping outside for, as if you was ashamed
of your master ! Come in !"

The man who growled out these words was a
stoutly-built fellow of about five-and-thirty, in a
black velveteen coat, very soiled drab breeches, lace-
up half boots, and gray cotton stockings, which in
closed a bulky pair of legs, with large swelling
calves the kind of legs, which in such costume,
always look in an unfinished and incomplete state
without a set of fetters to garnish them. He had a
brown hat on his head, and a dirty belcher handker
chief round his neck, with the long frayed ends of
which he smeared the beer from his face as he spoke.
He disclosed, Vhen he had done so, a broad heavy
countenance with a beard of three days' growth,
and two scowling eyes ; one of which displayed vari
ous party-colored symptoms of having been recently
damaged by a blow.

" Come in, d'ye hear ?" growled this engaging ruf
fian.

A white shaggy dog, with his face scratched and
torn in twenty different places, skulked into the
room.

" Why didn't you come in afore ?" said the man.
" You're getting too proud to own me afore company,
are you ? Lie down !''

This command was accompanied with a kick,
which sent the animal to the other end of the room.
He appeared well used to it, however ; for he coiled
himself up in a corner very quietly, without utter
ing a sound, and, winking his very ill-looking eyes

twenty times in a minute, appeared to occupy him
self in taking a survey of the apartment.

" What are you up to ? Ill-treating the boys, you
covetous, avaricious, in-sa-ti-a-ble old fence ?" said
the man, seating himself deliberately. " I wonder
they don't murder you ! / would if I was them. If
I'd been your 'prentice, I'd have done it long ago,
and no, I couldn't have sold you afterward, for
you're fit for nothing but keeping as a curiosity of
ugliness in a glass bottle, and I suppose they don't
blow glass bottles large enough."

" Hush ! hush ! Mr. Sikes," said the Jew, trembling ;
" don't speak so loud."

" None of your mistering," replied the ruffian ;
"you always mean mischief when you come that.
You know my name : out with it ! I sha'u't disgrace
it when the time comes."

" Well, well, then Bill Sikes," said the Jew, with
abject humility. " You seem out of humor, Bill."

"Perhaps I am," replied Sikes; "I should think
you, was rather out of sorts too, unless you mean as
little harm when you throw pewter pots about, as
you do when you blab and :

" Are you mad ?" said the Jew, catching the man
by the sleeve, and pointing toward the boys.

Mr. Sikes contented himself with tying an imagi
nary knot under his left ear, and jerking his head over
on the right shoulder ; a piece of dumb show which
the Jew appeared to understand perfectly. He then,
in cant terms, with which his whole conversation
was plentifully besprinkled, but which would be
quite unintelligible if they were recorded here, de
manded a glass of liquor.

" And mind you don't poison it," said Mr. Sikes,
laying his hat upon the table.

This was said in jest; but if the speaker could
have seen the evil leer with which the Jew bit his
pale lip as he turned round to the cupboard, he might
have thought the caution not wholly unnecessary,
or the wish (at all events) to improve upon the dis
tiller's ingenuity not very far from the old gentle
man's merry heart.

After swallowing two or three glasses of spirits,
Mr. Sikes condescended to take some notice of the
young gentlemen ; which gracious act led to a con
versation, in which the cause and manner of Oliver's
capture were circumstantially detailed, with such
alterations and improvements on the truth as to
the Dodger appeared most advisable under the cir
cumstances.

" Fm afraid," said the Jew, " that he may say some
thing which will get us into trouble."

" That's very likely," returned Sikes, with a mali
cious grin. " You're blowed upon, Fagin."

" And I'm afraid, you see," added the Jew, speak
ing as if he had not noticed the interruption ; and
regarding the other closely as he did so " I'm afraid
that, if the game was up with us, it might be up with
a good many more, and that it would come out rath
er worse for you than it would for me, my dear."

The man started, and turned round upon the Jew.
But the old gentleman's shoulders were shrugged up
to his ears ; and his eyes were vacantly staring on
the opposite wall.

There was a long pause. Every member of the
respectable coterie appeared plunged in his own re-

OLIVER TWIST.

flections ; not excepting the dog, who by a certain
malicious licking of his lips seemed to be meditating
an attack upon the legs of the first gentleman or
lady he might encounter in the streets when he went
out.

" Somebody must find out wot's been done at the
office," said Mr. Sikes, in a much lower tone than he
had taken since he came in.

The Jew nodded assent.

"If he hasn't peached, and is committed, there's
no fear till he comes out again," said Mr. Sikes, " and
then he must be taken care on. You must get hold
of him somehow."

Again the Jew nodded.

The prudence of this line of action, indeed, was ob
vious ; but, unfortunately, there was one very strong
objection to its being adopted. This was, that the
Dodger, and Charley Bates, and Fagin, and Mr. Wil
liam Sikes, happened, one and all, to entertain a vio
lent and deeply-rooted antipathy to going near a po
lice-office on any ground or pretext whatever.

How long they might have sat and looked at each
other, in a state of uncertainty not the most pleasant
of its kind, it is difficult to guess. It is not necessa
ry to make any guesses on the subject, however ; for
the sudden entrance of the two young ladies whom
Oliver had seen on a former occasion, caused the con
versation to flow afresh.

" The very thing !" said the Jew. " Bet will go ;
won't you, my dear I"

" Wheres ?" inquired the young lady.

" Only just up to the office, my dear," said the Jew,
coaxingly.

It is due to the young lady to say that she did not
positively affirm that she would not, but that she
merely expressed an emphatic and earnest desire to
be " blessed " if she would ; a polite and delicate eva
sion of the request, which shows the young lady to
have been possessed of that natural good-breeding
which can not bear to inflict upon a fellow-creature
the pain of a direct and pointed refusal.

The Jew's countenance fell. He turned from this
young lady, who was gayly, not to say gorgeously
attired, in a red gown, green boots, and yellow curl
papers, to the other female.

" Nancy, my dear," said the Jew in a soothing man
ner, " what do you say ?"

" That it won't do ; so it's no use a-trying it on,
Fagin," replied Nancy.

" What do you mean by that ?" said Mr. Sikes,
lookiug up in a surly manner.

" What I say, Bill," replied the lady, collectedly.

" Why, you're just the very person for it," reason
ed Mr. Sikes: "nobody about here knows any thing
of you."

"And as I don't want 'em to, neither," replied Nan
cy, in the same composed manner, " it's rather more
no than yes with me, Bill."

" She'll go, Fagin," said Sikes.

" No, she won't, Fagin," said Nancy.

" Yes, she will, Fagin," said Sikes.

And Mr. Sikes was right. By dint of alternate
threats, promises, and bribes, the lady in question
was ultimately prevailed upon to undertake the
commission. She was not, indeed, withheld by the
same considerations as her agreeable friend ; for, hav

ing recently removed into the neighborhood of Field
Lane from the remote but genteel suburb of Ratcliffe,
she was not .under the same apprehension of being
recognized by any of her numerous acquaintance.

Accordingly, with a clean white apron tied over
her gown, and her curl -papers tucked up under a
straw bonnet both articles of dress being provided
from the Jew's inexhaustible stock Miss Nancy
prepared to issue forth on her errand.

" Stop a minute, my dear," said the Jew, producing
a little covered basket. " Carry that in one hand.
It looks more respectable, my dear."

" Give her a door-key to carry in her t'other one,
Fagiu," said Sikes ; " it looks real and geniviue like."

" Yes, yes, my dear, so it does," said the Jew, hang
ing a large street-door key on the forefinger of the
young lady's right hand. " There ; very good ! Very
good, indeed, my dear!" said the Jew, rubbing his
hands.

" Oh, my brother ! My poor, dear, sweet, innocent
little brother !" exclaimed Nancy, bursting into tears,
and wringing the little basket and the street-door
key in an agony of distress. " What has become of
him! Where have they taken him to ! Oh, do have
pity, and tell me what's been done with the dear
boy, gentlemen ; do, gentlemen, if you please, gentle
men !"

Having uttered these words in a most lamentable
and heart-broken tone to the immeasurable delight
of her hearers Miss Nancy paused, winked to the
company, nodded smilingly round, and disappeared.

"Ah! she's a clever girl, my dears," said the Jew,
turning round to his young friends, and shaking his
head gravely, as if in mute admonition to them to
follow the bright example they had just beheld.

" She's a honor to her sex," said Mr. Sikes, filling
his glass, and smiting the table with his enormous
fist. " Here's her health, and wishing they was all
like her !"

While these and many other encomiums were be
ing passed on the accomplished Nancy, that young
lady made the best of her way to the police-office ;
whither, notwithstanding a little natural timidity
consequent upon walking through the streets alone
and unprotected, she arrived in perfect safety short
ly afterward.

Entering by the back way, she tapped softly with
the key at one of the cell-doors, and listened. There
was no sound within ; so she coughed and listened
again. Still there was no reply : so she spoke.

" Nolly, dear ?" murmured Nancy, in a gentle voice,
"Nolly?"

There was nobody inside but a miserable shoeless
criminal, who had been taken up for playing the
flute, and who, the offense against society having
been clearly proved, had been very properly commit
ted by Mr. Fang to the House of Correction for one
month; with the appropriate and amusing remark
that since he had so much breath to spare, it would
be more wholesomely expended on the tread - mill
than in a nmsical instrument. He made no answer ;
being occupied in mentally bewailing the loss of the
flute, which had been confiscated for the use of the
county ; so Nancy passed on to the next cell, and
knocked there.

" Well !" cried a faint and feeble voice.

NANCY THE PICTURE.

" Is there a little boy here ?" inquired Nancy, with
a preliminary sob.

' No," replied the voice ; " God forbid !"

This was a vagrant of sixty-five, who was going to
prison for not playing the flute ; or, in other words,
for begging in the streets, and doing nothing for his
livelihood. In the next cell was another man, who
was going to the same prison for hawking tin sauce
pans without a license ; thereby doing something for
his living, in defiance of the Stamp-office.

But, as neither of these criminals answered to the
name of Oliver, or knew any thing about him, Nancy
made straight up to the bluff' officer in the striped
waistcoat; and with the most piteous waitings and
lamentations, rendered more piteous by a prompt and
efficient use of the street-door key and the little bas
ket, demanded her own dear brother.

"7 haven't got him, my dear," said the old man.

" Where is he ?" screamed Nancy, in a distracted
manner.

" Why, the gentleman's got him," replied the of
ficer.

" What gentleman ? Oh, gracious heavens ! What
gentleman f ' exclaimed Nancy.

In reply to this incoherent questioning, the old
man informed the deeply-affected sister that Oliver
had been taken ill in the office, and discharged in
consequence of a witness having proved the robbery
to have been committed by another boy not in cus
tody ; and that the prosecutor had carried him away,
in an insensible condition, to his own residence; of
and concerning which, all the informant knew was,
that it was somewhere at Pentonville, he having
heard that word mentioned in the directions to the
coachman.

In a dreadful state of doubt and uncertainty, the
agonized young woman staggered to the gate, and
then, exchanging her faltering walk for a swift run,
returned, by the most devious and complicated route
she could think of, to the domicile of the Jew.

Mr. Bill Sikes no sooner heard the account of the
expedition delivered, than he very hastily called upon
the white dog, and, putting on his hat, expeditiously
departed ; without devoting any time to the formal
ity of wishing the company good-morning.

" We must know where he is, my dears ; he must
be found," said the Jew, greatly excited. " Charley,
do nothing but skulk about till you bring home some
news of him! Nancy, my dear, I must have him
found. I trust to you, my dear to you and the Art
ful, for every thing ! Stay, stay," added the Jew,
unlocking a drawer with a shaking hand; "there's
money, my dears. I shall shut up this shop to-night.
You'll know Avhere to find me! Don't stop here a
minute. Not an instant, my dears !"

With these words, he pushed them from the room ;
and carefully double-locking and barring the door
behind them, drew from its place of concealment the
box which he had unintentionally disclosed to Oliver.
Then he hastily proceeded to dispose the watches and
jewelry beneath his clothing.

A rap at the door startled him in this occupation.
" Who's there f" he cried in a shrill tone.

" Me !" replied the voice of the Dodger, through
the key -hole.

" What now ?" cried the Jew, impatiently.

"Is he to be kidnapped to the other ken, Nancy
says ?" inquired the Dodger.

" Yes," replied the Jew,"" wherever she lays hands
on him. Find him, find him out, that's all ! I shall
know what to do next ; never fear:"

The boy murmured a reply of intelligence, and
hurried down stairs after his companions.

" He has not peached, so far," said the Jew, as he
pursued his occupation. "If he means to blab us
among his new friends, we may stop his mouth yet."

CHAPTER XIV.

COMPRISING FURTHER PARTICULARS OF OLIVER'S STAY AT
MR. BROWNLOW'S, WITH THE REMARKABLE PREDICTION
WHICH ONE MR. GRIMWIG UTTERED CONCERNING HIM,
WHEN HE WENT OUT ON AN ERRAND.

OLIVER soon recovering from the fainting-fit into
which Mr. Brownlow's abrupt exclamation had
thrown him, the subject of the picture was carefully
avoided, both by the old gentleman and Mrs. Bed win,
in the conversation that ensued ; which indeed bore
no reference to Oliver's history or prospects, but was
confined to such topics as might amuse without ex
citing him. He was still too weak to get up to
breakfast ; but, when he came down into the house
keeper's room next day, his first act was to cast an
eager glance at the wall, in the hope of again look
ing on the face of the beautiful lady. His expecta
tions were disappointed, however, for the picture had
been removed.

"Ah!" said the housekeeper, watching the direc
tion of Oliver's eyes. " It is gone, you see."

" I see it is, ma'am," replied Oliver. " Why have
they taken it away I"

" It has been taken down, child, because Mr. Brown-
low said that as it seemed to worry you, perhaps it
might prevent your getting well, you know," rejoined
the old lady.

" Oh, no, indeed. It didn't worry me, ma'am," said
Oliver. " I liked to see it. I quite loved it."

" Well, well !" said the old lady, good-humoredly ;
" you get well as fast as ever you can, dear, and it
shall be hung up again. There! I promise you
that ! Now, let us talk about Something else."

This was all the information Oliver could obtain
about the picture at that time. As the old lady had
been so kind to him in his illness, he endeavored to
think no more of the subject just then; so he list
ened attentively to a great many stories she told
him, about an amiable and handsome daughter of
hers, who was married to an amiable and handsome
man, and lived in the country ; and about a son, who
was clerk to a merchant in the West Indies; and
who was, also, such a good young man, and wrote
such dutiful letters home four times a year, that it
brought the tears into her eyes to talk about them.
When the old lady had expatiated, a long time, on
the excellences of her children, and the merits of her
kind good husband besides, who had been dead and
gone, poor dear soul ! just six-and-twenty years, it
was time to have tea. After tea she began to teach
Oliver cribbage, which he learned as quickly as she
could teach, and at which game they played, with

OLIVER TWIST.

great interest and gravity, until it was time for the
invalid to have some warm wine and water, with a
slice of dry toast, and then to go cozily to bed.

They were happy days, those of Oliver's recovery.
Every thing was so quiet, and neat, and orderly ;
every body was kind and gentle ; that after the
noise and turbulence in the midst of which he had
always lived, it seemed like heaven itself. He was
uo sooner strong enough to put his clothes on prop
erly, than Mr. Browulow caused a complete new suit,
and a new cap, and a new pair of shoes, to be pro
vided for him. As Oliver was told that he might do
what he liked with the old clothes, he gave them to
a servant who had been very kind to him, and asked
her to sell them to a Jew, and keep the money for her
self. This she very readily did ; and, as Oliver look
ed out of the parlor window, and saw the Jew roll
them up in his bag and walk away, he felt quite de
lighted to think that they were safely gone, and that
there was now no possible danger of his ever being
sMe to wear them again. They were sad rags, to
tell the truth ; and Oliver had never had a new suit
before.

One evening, about a week after the affair of the
picture, as he was sitting talking to Mrs. Bedwin,
there came a message down from Mr. Brownlow, that
if Oliver Twist felt pretty well, he should like to see
him in his study, and talk to him a little while.

" Bless us, and save us ! Wash your hands, and let
me part your hair nicely for you, child," said Mrs.
Bedwiii. " Dear heart alive ! If we had known he
would have asked for you, we would have put you
a clean collar on, and made you as smart as six
pence !"

Oliver did as the old lady bade him ; and, although
she lamented grievously, meanwhile, that there was
not even time to crimp the little frill that bordered
his shirt-collar ; he looked so delicate and handsome,
despite that important personal advantage, that she
went so far as to say, looking at him with great com
placency from head to foot, that she really didn't
think it would have been possible, on the longest
notice, to have made much difference in him for the
better.

Thus encouraged, Oliver tapped at the study door.
On Mr. Browulow calling to him to come in, he found
himself in a little backroom quite full of books, with
a window, looking into some pleasant little gardens.
There was a table drawn up before the window, at
which Mr. Brownlow was seated reading. When he
saw Oliver, he pushed the book away from him, and
told him to come near the table, and sit down. Oli
ver complied ; marveling where the people could be
found to read such a great number of books as seem
ed to be written to make the world wiser. Which
is still a marvel to more experienced people than Ol
iver Twist, every day of their lives.

" There are a good many books, are there not, my
boy ?" said Mr. Brownlow, observing the curiosity
with which Oliver surveyed the shelves that reach
ed from the floorto the ceiling.

" A great number, sir," replied Oliver. " I never
saw so many."

" You shall read them, if you behave well," said the
old gentleman kindly ; " and you will like that bet
ter than looking at the outsides that is, in some

cases ; because there are books of which the backs
and covers are by far the best parts."

" I suppose they are those heavy ones, sir," said
Oliver, pointing to some large qxiartos, with a good
deal of gilding about the binding.

" Not always those," said the old gentleman, pat
ting Oliver on the head, and smiling as he did so ;
" there are other equally heavy ones, though of a
much smaller size. How should you like to grow
up a clever man, and write books, eh ?"

" I think I would rather read tiiern, sir," replied
Oliver.

" What ! wouldn't you like to be a book- writer ?"
said the old gentleman.

Oliver considered a little while ; and at last said,
he should think it would be a much better thing to be
a book-seller ; upon which the old gentleman laugh
ed heartily, and declared he had said a very good
thing. Which Oliver felt glad to have done, though
he by no means knew what it was.

" Well, \vell," said the old gentleman, composing
his features. "Don't be afraid! We won't make
an author of you, while there's an honest trade to be
learned, or brick-making to turn to."

" Thank you, sir," said Oliver. At the earnest
manner of his reply, the old gentleman laughed
again; and said something about a curious instinct,
which Oliver, not understanding, paid no very great
attention to.

" Now," said Mr. Brownlow, speaking if possible in
a kinder, but at the same time in a much more seri
ous manner, than Oliver had ever known him assume
yet ; " I want you to pay great attention, my boy, to
what I am going to say. I shall talk to you with
out any reserve ; because I am sure you are as well
able to understand me as many older persons would
be."

" Oh, don't tell me you are going to send me away,
sir, pray !" exclaimed Oliver, alarmed at the serious
tone of the old gentleman's commencement. " Don't
turn me out-of-doors to wander in the streets again.
Let me stay here, and be a servant. Don't send me
back to the wretched place I came from. Have
mercy upon a poor boy, sir !"

" My dear child," said the old gentleman, moved by
the warmth of Oliver's sudden appeal ; " you need
not be afraid of my deserting you, unless you give
me cause."

" I never, never will, sir," interposed Oliver.

" I hope not," rejoined the old gentleman. " I do
not think you ever will. I have been deceived be
fore, in the objects whom I have endeavored to ben
efit ; but I feel strongly disposed to trust you, never
theless; and I am more interested in your behalf
than I can well account for, even to myself. The
persons on whom I have bestowed my dearest love
lie deep in their graves ; but, although the happi
ness and delight of my life lie buried there too, I
have not made a coffin of my heart, and sealed it up
forever on my best affections. Deep affliction has
but strengthened and refined them."

As the old gentleman said this in a low voice
more to himself than to his companion and as he
remained silent for a short time afterward, Oliver
sat quite still.

" Well, well !" said the old gentleman at length, in

MR. GRIM WIG.

a more cheerful tone, " I only say this because you
have a young heart ; and knowing that I have suf
fered great pain and sorrow, you will be more care
ful, perhaps, not to wound me again. You say you
are an orphan, without a friend in the world; all
the inquiries I have been able to make confirm this
statement. Let me hear ' your story ; where you
come from ; who brought you up ; and how you got
into the company in which I found you. Speak the
truth, and you shall not be friendless while I live."

Oliver's sobs checked his utterance for some min
utes ; when he was on the point of beginning to re
late how he had been brought up at the farm, and
carried to the work-house by Mr. Bumble, a peculiar
ly impatient little double-knock was heard at the
street-door ; and the servant, running up stairs, an
nounced Mr. Grimwig.

" Is he coming up ?" inquired Mr. Brownlow.

" Yes, sir," replied the servant. " He asked if there
were any muffins in the house ; and, when I told him
yes, he said he had come to tea."

Mr. Brownlow smiled ; and, turning to Oliver, said
that Mr. Grimwig was an old friend of his, and he
must not mind his being a little rough in his man
ners ; for he was a worthy creature at bottom, as he
had reason to know.

" Shall I go down stairs, sir ?" inquired Oliver.

" No," replied Mr. Brownlow, " I would rather you
remained here."

At this moment there walked into the room, sup
porting himself by a thick stick, a stout old gentle
man, rather lame in one leg, who was dressed in a
blue coat, striped waistcoat, nankeen breeches and
gaiters, and a broad-brimmed white hat, with the
sides turned up with green. A very small-plaited
shirt frill stuck out from his waistcoat ; and a very
long steel watch-chain, with nothing but a key at
the end, dangled loosely below it. The ends of his
white neckerchief were twisted into a ball about the
size of an orange; the variety of shapes into which
his countenance was twisted defy description. He
had a manner of screwing his head on one side when
he spoke, and of looking out of the corners of his
eyes at the same time, which irresistibly reminded
the beholder of a parrot. In this attitude he fixed
himself, the moment he made his appearance; and,
holding out a small piece of orange-peel at arm's
length, exclaimed, in a growling, discontented voice,

'Look here! do you see this! Isn't it a most
wonderful and extraordinary thing that I can't call
at a man's house but I find a piece of this poor
surgeon's-friend on the staircase ? I've been lamed
witli orange-peel once, and I know orange-peel will
he niy death at last. It will, sir: orange-peel will
be my death, or I'll be content to eat my own head,
sir!''

This was the handsome offer with which Mr. Grim-
wig backed and confirmed nearly every assertion he
made ; and it was the more singular in his case, be
cause, even admitting, for the sake of argument, the
possibility of scientific improvements being ever
brought to that pass which will enable a gentleman
to eat his own head in the event of his being so dis
posed, Mr. Grimwig's head was such a particularly
large one, that the most sanguine man alive could
hardly entertain a hope of being able to get through

it at a sitting to put entirely out of the question a
very thick coating of powder.

"I'll eat my head, sir," repeated Mr. Grimwig,
striking his stick upon the ground. "Halloo!
what's that?" looking at Oliver, and retreating a
pace or two.

" This is young Oliver Twist, whom we were
speaking about," said Mr. Brownlow.

Oliver bowed.

" You don't mean to say that's the boy who had
the fever, I hope ?" said Mr. Grimwig, recoiling a lit
tle taore. " Wait a minute ! Don't speak ! Stop "
continued Mr. Grimwig, abruptly, losing all dread of
the fever in his triiunph at the discovery ; " that's
the boy w T ho had the orange ! If that's not the boy,
sir, who had the orange, and threw this bit of peel
upon the staircase, I'll eat my head, and his too."

" No, no, he has not had one," said Mr. Browulow,
laughing. " Come ! Put down your hat ; and speak
to my young friend."

" I feel strongly on this subject, sir," said the
irritable old gentleman, drawing off his gloves.
" There's always more or less orange-peel on the
pavement in our street ; and I know it's put there by
the surgeon's boy at the corner. A young woman
stumbled over a bit last night, and fell against my
garden-railings ; directly she got up I saw her look
toward his infernal red lamp with the pantomime-
light. ' Don't go to him,' I called out of the win
dow, ' he's an assassin ! A man-trap !' So he is. If
he is not ' Here the irascible old gentleman gave
a great knock on the ground with his stick ; which
was always understood by his friends to imply the
customary offer, whenever it was not expressed in
words. Then, still keeping his stick in his hand, he
sat down ; and, opening a double eye-glass, which he
wore attached to a broad black ribbon, took a view
of Oliver ; who, seeing that he was the object of in
spection, colored, and bowed again.

" That's the boy, is it ?" said Mr. Grimwig, at
length.

" That is the boy," replied Mr. Brownlow.

" How are you, boy," said Mr. Grimwig.

"A great deal better, thank you, sir," replied Oli
ver.

Mr. Browiilow, seeming to apprehend that his sin
gular friend was about to say something disagreea
ble, asked Oliver to step down stairs and tell Mrs.
Bed win they were ready for tea ; which, as he did
not half like the visitor's manner, he was very happy
to do.

"He is a nice-looking boy, is he not?" inquired
Mr. Brownlow.

" I don't know," replied Mr. Grimwig, pettishly.

" Don't know ?"

"No. I don't know. I never see any difference
in boys. I only know two sorts of boys. Mealy
boys, and beef-faced boys."

"And which is Oliver?"

"Mealy. I know a friend who has a beef-faced
boy a fine boy, they call him ; with -a round head,
and fed cheeks, and glaring eyes ; a horrid boy ; with
a body and limbs that appear to be swelling out of
the seams of his blue clothes ; with the voice of a pi
lot, and the appetite of a wolf. I know him ! The
wretch !"

OLIVER TWIST.

" Come," said Mr. Brownlow, " these are not the
characteristics of young Oliver Twist ; so he needn't
excite your wrath."

" They are not," replied Mr. Grimwig. " He may
have worse."

Here Mr. Brownlow coughed impatiently ; which
appeared to afford Mr. Grimwig the most exquisite
delight.

" He may have worse, I say," repeated Mr. Grim-
wig. "Where does he come from? Who is he?
What is he ? He has had a fever. What of that ?
Fevers are not peculiar to good people ; are they ?
Bad people have fevers sometimes ; haven't they, eh ?
I knew a man who was hung in Jamaica for mur
dering his master. He had had a fever six times ;
he wasn't recommended to mercy on that account.
Pooh! nonsense!"

Now, the fact was that, in the inmost recesses of
his own heart, Mr. Grimwig was strongly disposed to
admit that Oliver's appearance and manner were un
usually prepossessing ; but he had a strong appetite
for contradiction, sharpened on this occasion by the
finding of the orange-peel ; and, inwardly determin
ing that no man should dictate to him whether a
boy was well-looking or not, he had resolved, from
the first, to oppose his friend. When Mr. Brownlow
admitted that on no one point of inquiry could he
yet return a satisfactory answer; and that he had
postponed any investigation into Oliver's previous
history until he thought the boy was strong enough
to bear it ; Mr. Grimwig chuckled maliciously. And
he demanded, with a sneer, whether the housekeep
er was in the habit of counting the plate at night ;
because, if she didn't find a table-spoon or two miss
ing some sunshiny morning, why, he would be con
tent to and so forth.

All this, Mr. Brownlow, although himself some
what of an impetuous gentleman, knowing his
friend's peculiarities, bore with great good -humor.
As Mr. Grimwig, at tea, was graciously pleased to
express his entire approval of the muffins, matters
went on very smoothly ; and Oliver, who made one
of the party, began to feel more at his ease than he
had yet done in the fierce old gentleman's presence.

"And when are you going to hear a full, true, and
particular account of the life and adventures of Oli
ver Twist f ' asked Grimwig of Mr. Brownlow, at the
conclusion of the meal : looking sideways at Oliver,
as he resumed the subject.

" To-morrow morning," replied Mr. Brownlow. " I
would rather he was alone with me at the time.
Come up to me to-morrow morning at ten o'clock,
my dear."

" Yes, sir," replied Oliver. He answered with some
hesitation, because he was confused by Mr. Grimwig's
looking so hard at him.

" 111 tell you what," whispered that gentleman to
Mr. Brownlow ; " he won't come up to you to-morrow
morning. I saw him hesitate. He is deceiving you,
my good friend."

"I'll swear he is not," replied Mr. Brownlow,
warmly.

" If he is not," said Mr. Grimwig, " I'll " and down
went the stick.

"I'll answer for that boy's truth with my life!"
said Mr. Browulow, knocking the table.

"And I for his falsehood with my head!" rejoined
Mr. Grimwig, knocking the table also.

"We shall see," said Mr. Brownlow, checking his
rising anger.

"We will," replied Mr. Grimwig, with a provoking
smile; "we will."

As fate would have it, Mrs. Bedwin chanced to
bring in, at this moment, a small parcel of books,
which Mr. Brownlow had that morning purchased
of the identical book-stall keeper, who has already
figured in this history ; having laid them on the ta
ble, she prepared to leave the room.

" Stop the boy, Mrs. Bedwiu !" .said Mr. Brownlow ;
" there is something to go back."

" He has gone, sir," replied Mrs. Bedwin.

" Call after him," said Mr. Browulow ; " it's par
ticular. He is a poor man, and they are not paid
for. There are some books to be taken back, too."

The street-door was opened. Oliver ran one way,
and the girl ran another : and Mrs. Bedwiu stood on
the step and screamed for the boy ; but there was
no boy in sight. Oliver and the girl returned, in a
breathless state, to report that there were no tidings
of him.

" Dear me, I am very sorry for that !" exclaimed
Mr. Brownlow ; " I particularly wished those books
to be returned to-night."

" Send Oliver with them," said Mr. Grimwig, with
an ironical smile ; " he will be sure to deliver them
safely, you know."

" Yes ; do let me take them, if you please, sir," said
Oliver. " I'll run all the way, sir."

The old gentleman was just going to say that Oli
ver should not go out on any account, when a most
malicious cough from Mr. Grimwig determined him
that he should ; and that, by his prompt discharge
of the commission, he should prove to him the injus
tice of his suspicious, on this head at least, at once.

" You shall go, my dear," said the old gentleman.
" The books are on a chair by my table. Fetch them
down."

Oliver, delighted to be of use, brought down the
books under his arm in a great bustle ; and waited,
cap in hand, to hear what message he was to take.

" You are to say," said Mr. Brownlow, glancing
steadily at Grimwig ; " you are to say that you have
brought those books back ; and that you have come
to pay the four pound ten I owe him. This is a five-
pound note, so you will have to bring me back ten
shillings change."

" I won't be ten minutes, sir," replied Oliver, ea
gerly. Having buttoned up the bank-note in his
jacket pocket, and placed the books carefully under
his arm, he made a respectful bow, and left the room.
Mrs. Bedwin followed him to the street-door, giving
him many directions about the nearest way, and the
name of the book-seller, and the name of the street,
all of which Oliver said he clearly understood. Hav
ing superadded many injunctions to be sure and not
take cold, the old lady at length permitted him to
depart.

" Bless his sweet face !" said the old lady, looking
after him. " I can't bear, somehow, to let him go out
of my sight."

At this moment Oliver looked gayly round, and
nodded before he turned the coiner. The old lady

MUTUAL INTEREST.

smilingly returned his salutation, and, closing the
door, went back to her own room.

" Let ine see ; he'll be back in twenty minutes, at
the longest," said Mr. Brownlow, pulling out his
watch and placing it on the table. " It will be dark
by that time."

" Oh ! you really expect him to come back, do
you f ' inquired Mr. Griuiwig.

" Don't you ?" asked Mr. Brownlow, smiling.

The spirit of contradiction was strong in Mr. Grim-
wig's breast at the moment; and it was rendered
stronger by his friend's confident smile.

" No," he said, smiting the table with his fist, " I
do not. The boy has a new suit of clothes on his
back, a set of valuable books under his arm, and a
five -pound note in his pocket. He'll join his old
friends the thieves, and laugh at you. If ever that
boy returns to this house, sir, I'll eat my head."

With these words he drew his chair closer to the
table ; and there the two friends sat, in silent ex
pectation, with the watch between them.

It is worthy of remark, as illustrating the impor
tance we attach to our own judgments, and the pride
with which we put forth our most rash and hasty
conclusions, that, although Mr. Grimwig was not by
any means a bad-hearted man, and though he would
have been unfeiguedly sorry to see his respected
friend duped and deceived, he really did most ear
nestly and strongly hope at that moment that Oli
ver Twist might not come back.

It grew so dark, that the figures on the dial-plate
were scarcely discernible ; but there the two old gen
tlemen continued to sit, in silence, with the watch
between them.

CHAPTEE XV.

SHOWING HOW VERT FOND OF OLIVER TWIST THE MERBT
OLD JEW AND MISS NANCY WERE.

IN the obscure parlor of a low public-house, in the
filthiest part of Little Saffron Hill a dark and
gloomy den, where a flaring gas-light burned all day
in the winter -time, and where no ray of sun ever
shone in the summer there sat, brooding over a lit
tle pewter measure and a small glass, strongly im
pregnated with the smell of liquor, a man in a vel
veteen coat, drab shorts, half -boots, and stockings,
whom even by that dim light no experienced agent
of police would have hesitated to recognize as Mr.
William Sikes. At his feet sat a white-coated, red-
eyed dog ; who occupied himself, alternately, in wink
ing at his master with both eyes at the same time,
and in licking a large, fresh cut on one side of his
mouth, which appeared to be the result of some re
cent conflict.

" Keep quiet, you warmint ! Keep quiet !" said
Mr. Sikes, suddenly breaking silence. Whether his
meditations were 'so intense as to be disturbed by
the dog's winking, or whether his feelings were so
wrought upon by his reflections that they required
all the relief derivable from kicking an unoffending
animal to allay them, is matter for argument and
consideration. Whatever was the cause, the effect
was a kick and a curse, bestowed upon the dog si
multaneously.

Dogs are not generally apt to revenge injuries in
flicted upon them by their masters ; but Mr. Sikes's
dog, having faults of temper in common with his
owner, and laboring, perhaps, at this moment, under
a powerful sense of injury, made no more ado but at
once fixed his teeth in one of the half-boots. Hav
ing given it a hearty shake, he retired, growling, un
der a form ; just escaping the. pewter measure which
Mr. Sikes leveled at his head.

" You would, would you ?'' said Sikes, seizing the
poker in one hand, and deliberately opening with
the other a large clasp-knife, which he drew from
his pocket. " Come here, you born devil ! Come
here ! D'ye hear ?"

The dog no doubt heard, because Mr. Sikes spoke
in the very harshest key of a very harsh voice ; but,
appearing to entertain some unaccountable objection
to having his throat cut, he remained where he was,
and growled more fiercely than before : at the same
time grasping the end of the poker between his teeth,
and biting at it like a wild beast.

This resistance only infuriated Mr. Sikes the more ;
who, dropping on his knees, began to assail the ani
mal most furiously. The dog jumped from right to
left, and from left to right : snapping, growling, and
barking ; the man thrust and swore, and struck and
blasphemed ; and the struggle was reaching a most
critical point for one or other ; when, the door sud
denly opening, the dog darted out, leaving Bill Sikes
with the poker and clasp-knife in his hands.

There must always be two parties to a quarrel,
says the old adage. Mr. Sikes, being disappointed
of the dog's participation, at once transferred his
share in the quarrel to the new-comer.

"What the devil do you come in between me and
my dog for ?" said Sikes, with a fierce gesture. .

" I didn't know, my dear, I didn't know," replied
Fagin, humbly ; for the Jew was the new-comer.

" Didn't know, you white-livered thief!" growled
Sikes. " Couldn't you hear the noise ?"

" Not a sound of it, as I'm a living man, Bill," re
plied the Jew.

" Oh no ! You hear nothing, you don't," retorted
Sikes with a fierce sneer. " Sneaking in and out, so
as nobody hears how you come or go ! I wish you
had been the dog, Fagin, half a minute ago."

"Why ?" inquired the Jew, with a forced smile.

" 'Cause the Government, as cares for the lives of
such' men as you, as haven't half the pluck of curs,
let's a man kill a dog how he likes," replied Sikes,
shutting up the knife with a very expressive look ;
" that's why."

The Jew nibbed his hands ; and, sitting down at
the table, affected to laugh at the pleasantry of his
friend. He was obviously very ill at ease, how
ever.

" Grin away," said Sikes, replacing the poker, and
surveying him with savage contempt ; " grin away.
You'll never have the laugh at me, though, unless it's
behind a night-cap. I've got the upper hand over
you, Fa^in ; and, d me, I'll keep it. There ! If I
go, you {.{O ; so take care of me."

" Well, well, my dear," said the Jew, " I know all
that ; we- we have a mutual interest, Bill a mu
tual interest."

" Humph !" said Sikes, as if he thought the inter-

OLIVER TWIST.

est lay rather more on the Jew's side than on his.
"Well, what have you got to say to me ?"

" It's all passed safe through the melting-pot," re
plied Fagin, "and this is your share. It's rather
more than it ought to be, my dear ; but as I know
you'll do me a good turn another time, and "

" Stow that gammon !" interposed the robber, im
patiently. " Where is it ? Hand over !"

" Yes, yes, Bill ; give me time, give me time," re
plied the Jew, soothingly. " Here it is ! All safe !"
As he spoke, he drew forth an old cotton handker
chief from his breast ; and untying a large knot in
one corner, produced a small brown-paper packet.
Sikes, snatching it from him, hastily opened it, and
proceeded to count the sovereigns it contained.

" This is all, is it ?" inquired Sikes.

"All," replied the Jew.

"You haven't opened the parcel and swallowed
one or two as you come along, have you ?" inquired
Sikes, suspiciously. " Don't put on an injured look
at the question : you've done it many a time. Jerk
the tinkler."

These words, in plain English, conveyed an injunc
tion to ring the bell. It was answered by another
Jew, younger than Fagin, but nearly as vile and re
pulsive in appearance.

Bill Sikes merely pointed to the empty measure.
The Jew, perfectly understanding the hint, retired
to fill it; previously exchanging a remarkable look
with Fagin, who raised his eyes for an instant, as if
in expectation of it, and shook his head in reply ; so
slightly that the action would have been almost im
perceptible to an observant third person. It was
lost upon Sikes, who was stooping at the moment to
tie the boot-lace which the dog had torn. Possibly,
if he had observed the brief interchange of signals,
he might have thought that it boded no good to him.

" Is any body here, Barney ?" inquired Fagin ;
speaking, now that Sikes was looking on, without
raising his eyes from the ground.

" Dot a shoul," replied Barney ; whose words,
whether they came from the heart or not, made
their way through the nose.

" Nobody ?" inquired Fagin, in a tone of surprise ;
which perhaps might mean that Barney was at lib
erty to tell the truth.

" Dobody but Biss Dadsy," replied Barney.

" Nancy !" exclaimed Sikes. " Where ? Strike me
blind, if I don't honor that 'ere girl, for her native
talents."

" She's bid havid a plate of boiled beef id the bar,"
replied Barney.

" Send her here," said Sikes, pouring out a glass
of liquor. " Send her here."

Barney looked timidly at Fagin, as if for permis
sion : the Jew remaining silent, and not lifting his
eyes from the ground, he retired ; and presently re
turned, ushering in Nancy ; who was decorated with
the bonnet, apron, basket, and street-door key, com
plete.

" You are on the scent, are you, Nancy ?" inquired
Sikes, proffering the glass.

" Yes, I am, Bill," replied the young lady, dispos
ing of its contents ; " and tired enough of it I am,
too. The young brat's been ill and confined to the
crib; and "

" Ah, Nancy, dear !" said Fagin, looking up.

Now, whether a peculiar contraction of the Jew's
red eyebrows, and a half-closing of his deeply-set
eyes, warned Miss Nancy that she was disposed to be
too communicative, is not a matter of much impor
tance. The fact is all we need care for here ; and
the fact is, that she suddenly checked herself, and
with several gracious smiles upon Mr. Sikes, turned
the conversation to other matters. In about ten min
utes' time, Mr. Fagin was seized with a fit of cough
ing ; upon which Nancy pulled her shawl over her
shoulders, and declared it was time to go. Mr. Sikes,
finding that he was walking a short part of her way
himself, expressed his intention of accompanying
her ; they went away together, followed, at a little
distance, by the dog, who slunk out of a back-yard
soon as his master was out of sight.

The Jew thrust his head out of the room door when
Sikes had left it ; looked after him as he walked up
the dark passage ; shook his clenched fist ; muttered
a deep curse ; and then, with a horrible grin, re-seat
ed himself at the table ; where he was soon deeply
absorbed in the interesting pages of the Hue-and-
Cry.

Meanwhile, Oliver Twist, little dreaming that he
was within so very short a distance of the merry old
gentleman, was on his way to the book-stall. When
he got into Clerkenwell, he accidentally turned down
a by-street which was not exactly in his way ; but
not discovering his mistake until he had got half
way down it, and knowing it must lead in the right
direction, he did not think it worth while to turn
back; and so marched on, as quickly as he could,
with the books under his arm.

He was walking along, thinking how happy and
contented he ought to feel ; and how much he would
give for only one look at poor little Dick, who,
starved and beaten, might be weeping bitterly at
that very moment ; when he was startled by a young
woman screaming out very loud, " Oh, my dear broth
er !" And he had hardly looked up, to see what the
matter was, when he was stopped by having a pair
of arms thrown tight round his neck.

" Don't !" cried Oliver, struggling. " Let go of me !
Who is it ? What are you stopping me for ?"

The only reply to this was a great number of loud
lamentations from the young woman Avho had em
braced him ; and who had a little basket and a street-
door key in her hand.

" Oh my gracious !" said the young woman, " I've
found him ! Oh ! Oliver ! Oliver ! Oh you naughty
boy, to make me suffer sich distress on your account !
Come home, dear, come. Oh, I've found him ! Thank
gracious goodness heavins, I've found him !" With
these incoherent exclamations, the young woman
burst into another fit of crying, and got so dreadful
ly hysterical, that a couple of women who came up
at the moment asked a butcher's boy with a shiny
head of hair anointed with suet, who was also look
ing on, whether he didn't think he had better run for
the doctor. To which, the butcher's boy, who ap
peared of a lounging, not to say indolent disposition,
replied that he thought not.

" Oh, no, no, never mind," said the young woman,
grasping Oliver's hand ; " I'm better now. Come
home directly, you cruel boy ! Come !"

HIS RECAPTURE.

"What's the matter, ma'am ?" inquired, one of the
women.

" Oh, ma'am," replied the young woman, " he ran
away, near a month ago, from his parents, who are
hard-working and respectable people ; and went and
joined a set of thieves and bad characters ; and al
most broke his mother's heart."

" Young wretch !" said one woman.

" Go home, do, you little brute !" said the other.

" I am not," replied Oliver, greatly alarmed. " I
don't -know her. I haven't any sister, or father and
mother either. I'm an orphan; I live at Penton-
ville."

Help ! help !" cried Oliver, struggling in the man's
powerful grasp.

" Help !" repeated the man. " Yes ; I'll help you,
you young rascal ! What books are these ? You've
been a -stealing 'em, have you? Give 'em here."
With these words, the man tore the volumes from
his grasp, and struck him on the head.

" That's right !" cried a looker-on, from a garret-
window. " That's the only way of bringing him to
his senses !"

"To be sure !" cried a sleepy-faced carpenter, cast
ing an approving look at the garret-window.

" It'll do him good !" said the two women.

YOU AKE ON TUB SCENT, ARE YOU, NAMOY ?"

" Only hear him, how he braves it out !" cried the
young woman.

" Why, it's Nancy !" exclaimed Oliver ; who now
saw her face for the first time ; and started back in
irrepressible astonishment.

" You see he knows me !" cried Nancy, appealing
to the by-standers. " He can't help himself. Make
him come home, there's good people, or he'll kill his
dear mother and father, and break my heart !"

"What the devil's this?" said a man, bursting out
of a beer-shop, with a white dog at his heels ; " young
Oliver ! Come home to your poor mother, you young
dog ! Come home directly."

"I don't belong to them. I don't know them.

"And he shall have it, too !" rejoined the man, ad
ministering another blow, and seizing Oliver by the
collar. " Come on, you young villain ! Here, Bull's-
eye, mind him, boy ! Mind him !"

Weak with recent illness ; stupefied by the blows
and the suddenness of the attack ; terrified by the
fierce growling of the dog, and the brutality of the
man ; overpowered by the conviction of the by-stand
ers that he really was the hardened little wretch he
was described to be ; what could one poor child do !
Darkness had set in ; it was a low neighborhood ; no
help was near; resistance was useless. In another
moment he was dragged into & labyrinth of dark
narrow courts, and was forced along them at a pace

OLIVER TWIST.

which rendered the few cries he dared to give utter
ance to, unintelligible. It was of little moment, in
deed, whether they were intelligible or no ; for there
was nobody to care for them, had they been ever so

plain.

******

The gas -lamps were lighted; Mrs. Bedwin was
waiting anxiously at the open door ; the servant had
run up the street twenty times to see if there were
any traces of Oliver ; and still the two old gentlemen
sat, perseveringly, in the dark parlor, with the watch
between them.

CHAPTER XVI.

RELATES WHAT BECAME OF OLIVER TWIST AFTER HE
HAD BEEN CLAIMED BY NANCY.

THE narrow streets and courts at length termina
ted in a large open space, scattered about which
were pens for beasts, and other indications of a cat
tle-market. Sikes slackened his pace when they
reached this spot, the girl being quite unable to slip-
port any longer the rapid rate at which they had
hitherto walked. Turning to Oliver, he roughly
commanded him to take hold of Nancy's hand.

"Do you hear?" growled Sikes, as Oliver hesita
ted, and looked round.

They were in a dark corner, quite out of the track
of passengers. Oliver saw but too plainly that re
sistance would be of no avail. He held out his hand,
which Nancy clasped tight in hers.

" Give me the other," said Sikes, seizing Oliver's
unoccupied hand. " Here, Bull's-eye !"
The dog looked up and growled.
" See here, boy !" said Sikes, putting his other hand
to Oliver's throat ; " if he speaks ever so soft a word,
hold him ! D'ye mind !"

The dog growled again ; and licking his lips, eyed
Oliver as if he were anxious to attach himself to his
windpipe without delay.

" He's as willing as a Christian, strike me blind if
he isn't!" said Sikes, regarding the animal with a
kind of grim and ferocious approval. "Now you
know what you've got to expect, master, so call away
as quick as you like; the dog will soon stop that
game. Get on, young 'un !"

Bull's-eye wagged his tail in acknowledgment of
this unusually endearing form of speech ; and, giving
vent to another admonitory growl for the benefit of
Oliver, led the way onward.

It was Smithfield that they were crossing, al
though it might have been Grosvenor Square for
any thing Oliver knew to the contrary. The night
was dark and foggy. The lights in the shops could
scarcely struggle through the heavy mist, which
thickened every moment and shrouded the streets
and houses in gloom; rendering the strange place
still stranger in Oliver's eyes ; and making his un
certainty the more dismal and depressing.

They had hurried on a few paces, when a deep
church-bell struck the hour. With its first stroke
his two conductors stopped, and turned their heads
in the direction whence the sound proceeded.

" Eight o'clock, Bill," said Nancy, when the bell
ceased.

" What's the good of telling me that ; I can hear
it, can't I ?" replied Sikes.

" I wonder whether they can hear it," said Nancy.

" Of course they can," replied Sikes. " It was Bar-
tlemy time when I was shopped ; and there waru't
a penny trumpet in the fair as I couldn't hear the
squeaking on. Arter I was locked up for the night,
the row and din outside made the thundering old
jail so silent, that I could almost have beat my brains
out against the iron plates of the door."

" Poor fellows !" said Nancy, who still had her face
turned toward the quarter in which the bell had
sounded. " Oh, Bill, such fine young chaps as them !"

" Yes ; that's all you women think of," answered
Sikes. " Fine young chaps ! Well, they're as good
as dead, so it don't much matter."

With this consolation Mr. Sikes appeared to re
press a rising tendency to jealousy, and, clasping
Oliver's wrist more firmly, told him to step out
again.

" Wait a minute !" said the girl, " I wouldn't hurry
by if it was you that was coming out to be hung the
next time eight o'clock struck, Bill. I'd walk round
and round the place till I dropped, if the snow was
on the ground, and I hadn't a shawl to cover me."

"And what good would that do?" inquired the
unsentimental Mr. Sikes. " Unless you could pitch
over a file and twenty yards of good stout rope, you
might as well be walking fifty mile off, or not walk
ing at all, for all the good it would do me. Come
on, and don't stand preaching there." .

The girl burst into a laugh, drew her shawl more
closely around her, and theywalked away. But Ol
iver felt her hand tremble, and, looking up in her
face as they passed a gas-lamp, saw that it had turn
ed a deadly white.

They walked on by little-frequented and dirty
ways, for a full half hour, meeting very few people,
and those appearing from their looks to hold much
the same position in society as Mr. Sikes himself. At '
length they turned into a very filthy, narrow street,
nearly full of old-clothes shops ; the dog running for
ward, as if conscious that there was no further occa
sion for his keeping on guard, stopped before the
door of a shop that was closed and apparently un-
tenanted; the house was in a ruinous condition, and
on the door was nailed a board, intimating that it
was to let ; which looked as if it had hung there for
many years.

"All right," cried Sikes, glancing cautiously about.

Nancy stooped below the shutters, and Oliver
heard the sound of a bell. They crossed to the op
posite side of the street, and stood for a few moments
under a lamp. A noise, as if a sash-window were
gently raised, was heard; and soon afterward the
door softly opened. Mr. Sikes then seized the terri
fied boy by the collar with very little ceremony, and
all three were quickly inside the house.

The passage was perfectly dark. They waited,
while the person who had let them in chained and
barred the door.

"Any body here?" inquired Sikes.

"No," replied a voice, which Oliver thought he
had heard before.

" Is the old 'un here ?" asked the robber.

" Yes," replied the voice ; " and precious down in

RESTORED TO PLEASANT COMPANY.

the month he has been. Won't he be glad to see
you? Oh, no!"

The style of this reply, as well as the voice which
delivered it, seemed familiar to Oliver's ears; but it
was impossible to distinguish even the form of the
speaker in the darkness.

" Let's have a glim," said Sikes, " or we shall go
breaking our necks, or treading on the dog. Look
after your legs if you do!"

" Stand still a moment, and I'll get you one," re
plied the voice. The receding footsteps of the speak
er were heard ; and, in another minute, the form of
Mr. John Dawkius, otherwise the artful Dodger, ap
peared. He bore in his right hand a tallow candle
stuck in the end of a cleft stick.

The young gentleman did not stop to bestow any
other mark of recognition upon Oliver than a humor
ous grin ; but, turning away, beckoned the visitors
to follow him down a flight of stairs. They crossed
an empty kitchen ; and, opening the door of a low,
earthy-smelling room, which seemed to have been
built in a small back-yard, were received with a
shout of laughter.

" Oh, my wig, my wig !" cried Master Charles
Bates, from whose lungs the laughter had proceed
ed; "here he is! oh, cry, here he is! Oh, Fagin,
look at him ! Fagin, do look at him ! I can't bear
it ; it is such a jolly game, I can't bear it. Hold me,
somebody, while I laugh it out."

With this irrepressible ebullition of mirth, Master
Bates laid himself flat on the floor, and kicked con
vulsively for five minutes, in an ecstasy of facetious
joy. Then jumping to his feet, he snatched the cleft
stick from the Dodger ; and, advancing to Oliver,
viewed him round and round ; while the Jew, tak
ing off' his night-cap, made a great number of low
bows to the bewildered boy. The Artful, meantime,
who Avas of a rather saturnine disposition, and sel
dom gave way to merriment when it interfered with
business, rifled Oliver's pockets with steady assi
duity.

" Look at his togs, Fagin !" said Charley, putting
the light so close to his new jacket as nearly to set
him on fire. "Look at his togs! Superfine cloth,
and the heavy swell cut ! Oh, my eye, what a game !
And his books, too ! Nothing but a gentleman, Fa-
gin !"

" Delighted to see you looking so well, my dear,"
said the Jew, bowing with mock humility. " The
Artful shall give you another suit, my dear, for fear
you should spoil that Sunday one. Why didn't you
write, my dear, and say you were coming ? We'd
have got something warm for supper."

At this Master Bates roared again, so loud that
Fagin himself relaxed, and even the Dodger smiled ;
but as the Artful drew forth the five-pound note at
that instant, it is doubtful whether the sally or the
discovery awakened his merriment.

" Halloo ! what's that ?" inquired Sikes, stepping
forward as the Jew seized the note. " That's mine,
Fagin."

"No, no, my dear," said the Jew. "Mine, Bill,
mine. You shall have the books."

" If that ain't mine," said Bill Sikes, putting on
his hat with a determined air " mine and Nancy's,
that is I'll take the boy back again."

The Jew started. Oliver started too, though from
a very different cause ; for he hoped that the dispute
might really end in his being taken back.

" Come ! Hand over, will you ?" said Sikes.

" This is hardly fair, Bill ; hardly fair, is it, Nan
cy ?" inquired the Jew.

" Fair or not fair," retorted Sikes, " hand over, I
tell you ! Do you think Nancy and me has got noth
ing else to do with our precious time but to spend it
in scouting arter, and kidnapping, every young boy
as gets grabbed through you? Give it here, you
avaricious old skeleton give it here !"

With this gentle remonstrance, Mr. Sikes plucked
the note from between the Jew's finger and thumb ;
and looking the old man coolly in the face, folded it
up small, and tied it in his neckerchief.

" That's for our share of the trouble," said Sikes ;
" and not half enough, neither. You may keep the
books, if you're fond of reading. If you ain't, sell
'em."

" They're very pretty," said Charley Bates, who,
with sundry grimaces, had been affecting to read
one of the volumes in question : " beautiful writing,
isn't it, Oliver ?" At sight of the dismayed look with
which Oliver regarded his tormentors, Master Bates,
who was blessed with a lively sense of the ludicrous,
fell into another ecstasy, more boisterous than the
first.

" They belong to the old gentleman," said Oliver,
wringing his hands ; " to the good, kind old gentle
man who took me into his house, and had me nursed,
when I was near dying of the fever. Oh, pray send
them back ; send him back the books and money.
Keep me here all my life long ; but pray, pray send
them back. He'll think I stole them ; the old lady
all of them who were so kind to me will think I
stole them. Oh, do have mercy upon me, and send
them back !"

With those words, which were uttered with all
the energy of passionate grief, Oliver fell upon his
knees at the Jew's feet, and beat his hands together
in perfect desperation.

" The boy's right," remarked Fagin, looking cov
ertly round, and knitting his shaggy eyebrows into
a hard knot. " You're right, Oliver, you're right ;
they icill think you have stolen 'em. Ha! ha!"
chuckled the Jew, rubbing his hands ; " it couldn't
have happened better if we had chosen our time !"

" Of course it couldn't," replied Sikes ; " I kuow'd
that, directly I see him coming through Clerkenwell,
with the books under his arm. It's all right enough.
They're soft-hearted psalm-singers, or they wouldn't
have taken him in at all ; and they'll ask no ques
tions after him, fear they should be obliged to prose
cute, and so get him lagged. He's safe enough."

Oliver had looked from one to the other, while
these words were being spoken, as if he were bewil
dered, and could scarcely understand what passed ;
but when Bill Sikes concluded, he jumped suddenly
to his feet, and tore wildly from the room, uttering
shrieks for help, which made the bare old house echo
to the roof.

" Keep back the dog, Bill !" cried Nancy, springing
before the door, and closing it, as the Jew and his
two pupils darted out iu pursuit. " Keep back the
dog ; he'll tear the boy to pieces !"

OLIVEE TWIST.

" Serve him right !" cried Sikes, struggling to dis
engage himself from the girl's grasp. " Stand off
from me, or I'll split your head against the Avail !"

" I don't care for that, Bill, I don't care for that,"
screamed the girl, struggling violently with the man :
" the child sha'n't be torn down by the dog, unless
you kill me first."

"Sha'n't he!" said Sikes, setting his teeth. "I'll
soon do that, if you don't keep off."

The housebreaker flung the girl from him to the
farther end of the room, just as the Jew and the two
boys returned, dragging Oliver among them.

"What's the matter here?" said Fagin, looking
round.

" The girl's gone mad, I think," replied Sikes, sav
agely.

" No, she hasn't," said Nancy, pale and breathless
from the scuffle ; " no, she hasn't, Fagiu ; don't think
it."

" Then keep quiet, will you ?" said the Jew, with
a threatening look.

"No, I won't do that, neither," replied Nancy,
speaking very loud. " Come ! What do you think
of that?"

Mr. Fagin was sufficiently well acquainted with
the manners and customs of that particular species
of humanity to which Nancy belonged to feel toler
ably certain that it would be rather unsafe to pro
long any conversation with her at present. With
the view of diverting the attention of the company,
he turned to Oliver.

" So you wanted to get away, my dear, did you ?"
said the Jew, taking up a jagged and knotted club
which lay in a corner of the fire-place ; " eh ?"

Oliver made no reply. But he watched the Jew's
motions, and breathed quickly.

*'' Wanted to get assistance ; called for the police,
did you ?" sneered the Jew, catching the boy by the
arm. " We'll cure you of that, my young master."

The Jew inflicted a smart blow on Oliver's shoul
ders with the club ; and was raising it for a second,
when the girl, rushing forward, wrested it from his
hand. She flung it into the fire, with a force that
brought some of the glowing coals whirling out into
the room.

" I won't stand by and see it done, Fagin," cried
the girl. " You've got the boy, and what more would
you have ? Let him be let him be or I shall put
that mark on some of you, that will bring me to the
gallows before my time."

The girl stamped her foot violently on the floor as
she vented this tlireat ; and with her lips compress
ed, and her hands clenched, looked alternately at the
Jew and the other robber : her face quite colorless
from the passion of rage into which she had gradu
ally worked herself.

" Why, Nancy," said the Jew, in a soothing tone ;
after a pause, during which he and Mr. Sikes had
stared at one another in a disconcerted manner;
" you you're more clever than ever to-night. Ha !
ha ! my dear, you are acting beautifully."

" Am I ?" said the girl. " Take care I don't overdo
it. You will be the worse for it, Fagin, if I do ; and
so I tell you in good time to keep clear of me."

There is something about a roused woman : espe
cially if she add to all her other strong passions the

fierce impulses of recklessness and despair: which
few men like to provoke. The Jew saw that it
would be hopeless to affect any further mistake re
garding the reality of Miss Nancy's rage ; and, shrink
ing involuntarily back a few paces, cast a glance,
half imploring and half cowardly, at Sikes : as if to
hint that he was the fittest person to pursue the dia
logue.

Mr. Sikes, thus mutely appealed to ; and possibly
feeling his personal pride and influence interested in
the immediate reduction of Miss Nancy to reason;
gave utterance to about a couple of score of curses
and threats, the rapid production of which reflected
great credit on the fertility of his invention. As
they produced no visible effect on the object against
whom they were discharged, however, he resorted to
more tangible arguments.

" What do you mean by this ?" said Sikes ; back
ing the inquiry with a very common imprecation
concerning the most beautiful of human features;
which, if it were heard aboA'e, only once out of ev
ery fifty thousand times that it is uttered below,
would render blindness as common a disorder as
measles : " what do you mean by it ? Burn my body !
Do you know who you are, and what you are ?"

" Oh, yes, I know all about it," replied the girl,
laughing hysterically, and shaking her head from
side to side with a poor assumption of indifference.

"Well, then, keep quiet," rejoined Sikes, with a
growl like that he was accustomed to use when ad
dressing his dog, " or I'll quiet you for a good long
time to come."

The girl laughed again, even less composedly than
before ; and, darting a hasty look at Sikes, turned
her face aside, and bit her lip till the blood came.

" You're a nice one," added Sikes, as he surveyed
her with a contemptuous air, "to take up the hu
mane and gen-teel side! A pretty subject for the
child, as you call him, to make a friend of!"

" God Almighty help me, I am !" cried the girl pas
sionately ; " and I wish I had been struck dead in the
street, or changed places with them we passed so
near to-night, before I had lent a hand in bringing
him here. He's a thief, a liar, a devil, all that's bad,
from this night forth. Isn't that enough for the old
Avretch, without blows ?"

" Come, come, Sikes," said the Jew, appealing to
him in a reinonstratory tone, and motioning toward
the boys, who were eagerly attentive to all that
passed ; " we must have civil words civil words,
Bill."

" Civil words !" cried the girl, whose passion was
frightful to see. "Civil words, you villain! Yes,
you deserve 'em from me. I thieved for you when I
was a child not half as old as this !" pointing to Oli
ver. " I have been in the same trade, and in the
same service, for twelve years since. Don't you kuow
it ? Speak out ! Don't you know it ?"

" Well, well," replied the Jew, with an attempt at
pacification ; " and, if you have, it's your living."

"Ay, it is!" returned the girl; not speaking, but
pouring out the words in one continuous and vehe
ment scream. " It is my living, and the cold, wet,
dirty streets are my home ; and you're the wretch
that drove me to them long ago, and that'll keep me
there, day and night, day and night, till I die !"

MR. BUMBLE, THE BEADLE.

" I shall do you a mischief!" interposed the Jew,
goaded by these reproaches ; " a mischief worse than
that, if you say much more !"

The girl said nothing more ; but tearing her hair
and dress in a transport of passion, made such a rush
at the Jew as would probably have left signal marks
of her revenge upon him, had not her wrists been
seized by Sikes at the right moment ; upon which
she made a few ineffectual struggles, and fainted.

" She's all right now," said Sikes, laying her down
in a corner. " She's uncommon strong in the arms,
when she's up in this way."

The Jew wiped his forehead, and smiled, as if it
were a relief to have the disturbance over ; but nei
ther he, nor Sikes, nor the dog, nor the boys, seemed
to consider it in any other light than a common oc
currence incidental to business.

" It's the worst of having to do with women," said
the Jew, replacing his club ; " but they're clever, and
we can't get on, in our line, without 'em. Charley,
show Oliver to bed."

" I suppose he'd better not wear his best clothes
to-morrow, Fagin, had he ?" inquired Charley Bates.

" Certainly not," replied the Jew, reciprocating the
grin with which Charley put the question.

Master Bates, apparently much delighted with his
commission, took the cleft stick, and led Oliver into
an adjacent kitchen, where there were two or three
of the beds on which he had slept before ; and here,
with many uncontrollable bursts of laughter, he pro
duced the identical old suit of clothes which Oliver
had so much congratulated himself upon leaving off
at Mr. Browulow's ; and the accidental display of
which, to Fagin, by the Jew who purchased them,
had been the very first clue received of his where
about.

" Pull off the smart ones," said Charley, " and I'll
give 'em to Fagin, to take care of. What fun it is !"

Poor Oliver unwillingly complied. Master Bates
rolling up the new clothes under his arm, departed
from the room, leaving liver in the dark, and lock
ing the door behind him.

The noise of Charley's laughter, and the voice of
Miss Betsy, who opportunely arrived to throw water
over her friend, and perform other feminine offices
for the promotion of her recovery, might have kept
many people awake under more happy circumstances
than those in which Oliver was placed. But ho was
sick and weary ; and ho soon fell sound asleep.

CHAPTER XVII.

OLIVER'S DESTINY CONTINUING UNPROPITIOUS, BRINGS A
GREAT MAN TO LONDON TO INJURE HIS REPUTATION.

IT is the custom on the stage, in all good murder
ous melodramas, to present the tragic and the
comic scenes, in as regular alternation, as the layers
of red and white in a side of streaky bacon. The
hero sinks upon his straw bed, weighed down by
fetters and misfortunes ; in the next scene, his faith
ful but unconscious squire regales the audience with
a comic song. We behold, with throbbing bosoms,
the heroine in the grasp of a proud and ruthless
baron, her virtue and her life alike in danger, draw

ing forth her dagger to preserve the one at the cost
of the other ; and just as our expectations are wrought
up to the highest pitch, a whistle is heard, and we
are straightway transported to the great hall of the
castle ; where a gray-headed seneschal sings a funny
chorus with a funnier body of vassals, who are free
of all sorts of places, from church vaults to palaces,
and roam about in company, carolling perpetually.

Such changes appear absurd ; but they are not so
unnatural as they would seem at first sight. The
transitions in real life from well-spread boards to
death-beds, and from mourning weeds to holiday
garments, are not a whit less startling ; only there
we are busy actors, instead of passive lookers-on,
which makes a vast difference. The actors in the
mimic, life of the theatre are blind to violent transi
tions and abrupt impulses of passion or feeling,
which, presented before the eyes of mere spectators,
are at once condemned as outrageous and prepos
terous.

As'sudden shiftings of the scene, and rapid changes
of time and place, are not only sanctioned in books
by long usage, but are by many considered as the
great art of authorship an author's skill in his craft,
being, by such critics, chiefly estimated with rela
tion to the dilemmas in which he leaves his charac
ters at the end of every chapter this brief introduc
tion to the present one may perhaps be deemed un
necessary. If so, let it be considered a delicate inti
mation on the part of the historian that he is going
back to the town in which Oliver Twist was born ;
the reader taking it for granted that there are good
and substantial reasons for making the journey, or
he would not be invited to proceed upon such an ex
pedition.

Mr. Bumble emerged at early morning from the
work-house gate, and walked with portly carriage
and commanding steps up the High Street. He was
in the full bloom and pride of beadlehood ; his cocked
hat and coat were dazzling in the morning sim ; he
clutched his cane with the vigorous tenacity of
health and power. Mr. Bumble always carried his
head high ; but this morning it was higher than
usual. There was an abstraction in his eye, an ele
vation in his air, which might have warned an ob
servant stranger that thoughts were passing in the
beadle's mind too great for utterance.

Mr. Bumble stopped not to converse with the
small shop-keepers and others who spoke to him
deferentially, as he passed along. He merely re
turned their salutations with a wave of his hand,
and relaxed not in his dignified pace until he reach
ed the farm where Mrs. Mann tended the infant pau
pers with parochial care.

" Drat that beadle !" said Mrs. Maun, hearing the
well-known shaking at the garden-gate. " If it isn't
him at this time in the morning ! Lauk, Mr. Bum
ble, only think of its being you! Well, dear me, it
is a pleasure, this is ! Come into the parlor, sir,
please."

The first sentence was addressed to Susan ; and
the exclamations of delight were uttered to Mr. Bum
ble, as the good lady unlocked the garden-gate, and
showed him, with great attention and respect, into
the house.

" Mrs. Maun," said Mr. Bumble not sitting upon,

OLIVER TWIST.

or dropping himself into a seat, as any common jack
anapes would, but letting himself gradually and
slowly down into a chair " Mrs. Mann, ma'am, good-
morning."

" Well, and good-morning to you, sir," replied Mrs.
Mann, with many smiles ; " and hoping you find
yourself well, sir."

" So-so, Mrs. Mann," replied the beadle. "A poro-
chial life is not a bed of roses, Mrs. Mann."

"Ah, that it isn't indeed, Mr. Bumble," rejoined
the lady. And all the infant paupers might have
chorused the rejoinder with great propriety, if they
had heard it.

"A porochial life, ma'am," continued Mr. Bumble,
striking the table with his cane, " is a life of worrit,
and vexation, and hardihood ; but all public charac
ters, as I may say, must suffer prosecution."

Mrs. Mann, not very well knowing what the beadle
meant, raised her hands with a look of sympathy,
and sighed.

"Ah! You may well sigh, Mrs. Mann!" said the
beadle.

Finding she had done right, Mrs. Mann sighed
again: evidently to the satisfaction of the public
character, who, repressing a complacent smile by
looking sternly at his cocked hat, said,

" Mrs. Mann, I'm a-going to London."

"Lauk, Mr. Bumble!'' cried Mrs. Mann, starting
back.

" To London, ma'am," resumed the inflexible bea
dle, " by coach. I and two paupers, Mrs. Mann ! A
legal action is a-coming on about a settlement ; and
the board has appointed me me, Mrs. Mann to
depose to the matter before the Quarter-sessions at
Clerkinwell. And I very much question," added Mr.
Bumble, drawing himself up, "'whether the Clerkin
well Sessions will not find themselves in the wrong
box before they have done with me."

" Oh ! you mustn't be too hard upon them, sir,"
said Mrs. Mann, coaxiugly.

"The Clerkinwell Sessions have brought it upon
themselves, ma'am," replied Mr. Bumble ; " and if the
Clerkinwell Sessions find that they come olf rather
worse than they expected, the Clerkinwell Sessions
have only themselves to thank."

There was so much determination and depth of
purpose about the menacing manner in which Mr.
Bumble delivered himself of these words, that Mrs.
Mann appeared quite awed by them. At length she
said,

" You're going by coach, sir ? I thought it was
always usual to send them paupers in carts."

" That's when they're ill, Mrs. Mann." said the bea
dle. " We put the sick paupers into open carts in
the rainy weather, to prevent their taking cold."

"Oh!" said Mrs. Mann.

"The opposition coach contracts for these two,
and takes them cheap," said Mr. Bumble. "They
are both in a very low state, and we find it would
come two pound cheaper to move 'em than to bury
r em that is, if we can throw 'em upon another par
ish, which I think we shall be able to do, if they
don't die upon the road to spite us. Ha ! ha ! ha !"

When Mr. Bumble had laughed a little while, his
eyes again encountered the cocked hat, and he be
came grave.

" We are forgetting business, ma'am," said the bea
dle ; " here is your porochial stipend for the month."

Mr. Bumble produced some silver money rolled up
in a paper from his pocket-book, and requested a re
ceipt ; which Mrs. Mann wrote.

" It's very much blotted, sir," said the farmer of
infants ; " but it's formal enough, I dare say. Thank
you, Mr. Bumble, sir, I am very much obliged to you,
I'm sure."

Mr. Bumble nodded blandly, in acknowledgment
of Mrs. Mann's courtesy ; and inquired how the chil
dren were.

" Bless their dear little hearts !" said Mrs. Mann,
with emotion, " they're as well as can be, the dears !
Of course, except the two that died last week. And
little Dick."

" Isn't that boy no better ?" inquired Mr. Bumble.

Mrs. Mann shook her head.

" He's a ill-conditioned, wicious, bad-disposed po
rochial child that," said Mr. Bumble angrily. " Where
is he ?"

" I'll bring him to you in one minute, sir," replied
Mrs. Mann. " Here, you Dick !"

After some calling, Dick was discovered. Having
had his face put under the pump, and dried upon
Mrs. Mann's gown, he was led into the awful pres
ence of Mr. Bumble, the beadle.

The child was pale and thin ; his cheeks were sunk
en : and his eyes large and bright. The scanty par
ish dress, the livery of his misery, hung loosely on his
feeble body ; and his young limbs had wasted away
like those of an old man.

Such was the little being who stood trembling be
neath Mr. Bumble's glance ; not daring to lift his
eyes from the floor ; and dreading even to hear the
beadle's voice.

" Can't you look at the gentleman, you obstinate
boy ?" said Mrs. Mann.

The child meekly raised his eyes, and encountered
those of Mr. Bumble.

" What's the matter with you, porochial Dick t"
inquired Mr. Bumble, with well-timed jocularity.

" Nothing, sir," replied the child, faintly.

" I should think not," said Mrs. Mann, who had, of
course, laughed very much at Mr. Bumble's humor.
" You want for nothing, I'm sure."

" I should like" faltered the child.

" Heyday !" interposed Mrs. Mann, " I suppose you're
going to say that you do want for something, now ?
Why, you little wretch "

"Stop, Mrs. Mann, stop!" said the beadle, raising
his hand with a show of authority. "Like what, sir,
eh?"

" I should like," faltered the child, " if somebody
that can write would put a few words down for me
on a piece of paper, and fold it up and seal it, and
keep it for me, after I am laid in the ground."

" Why, what does the boy mean ?" exclaimed Mr.
Bumble, on whom the earnest manner and wan as
pect of the child had made some impression, accus
tomed as he was to such things. "What do you
mean, sir ?"

" I should like," said the child, " to leave my dear
love to poor Oliver Twist ; and to let him know how
often I have sat by myself and cried to think of his
wandering about in the dark nights with nobody to

BUMBLE AFTER THE GUINEAS.

help him. Aud I should like to tell him," said the
child, pressing his small hands together, and speak
ing with great fervor, " that I was glad to die when
I was very young ; for, perhaps, if I had lived to be
a man, and had grown old, my little sister, who is
in heaven, might forget me, or be unlike me ; and it
would be so much happier if we were both children
there together."

Mr. Bumble surveyed the little speaker from head
to foot with indescribable astonishment ; and, turn
ing to his companion, said, " They're all in one story,
Mrs. Mann. That out-dacious Oliver has demogal-
ized them all !"

" I couldn't have believed it, sir !" said Mrs. Mann,
holding up her hands, and looking malignantly at
Dick. " I never see such a hardened little wretch!"

" Take him away, ma'am !" said Mr. Bumble, impe
riously. " This must be stated to the board, Mrs.
Maim."

" I hope the gentlemen will understand that it isn't
my fault, sir ?" said Mrs. Mann, whimpering pathet
ically.

" They shall understand that, ma'am ; they shall
be acquainted with the true state of the case," said
Mr. Bumble. " There ; take him away ; I can't bear
the sight on him."

Dick was immediately taken away and locked up
in the coal -cellar. Mr. Bumble shortly afterward
took himself off, to prepare for his journey.

At six o'clock next morning, Mr. Bumble having
exchanged his cocked hat for a round one, and in
cased his person in a blue great-coat with a cape to
it took his place on the outside of the coach, accom
panied by the criminals whose settlement was dis
puted ; with whom, in due course of time, he arrived
in London. He experienced no other crosses on the
way than those which originated in the perverse be
havior of the two paupers, who persisted in shiver
ing and complaining of the cold, in a manner which,
Mr. Bumble declared, caused his teeth to chatter in
his head, and made him feel quite uncomfortable, al-
thougn ne had a great-coat on.

Having disposed of these evil-minded persons for
the night, Mr. Bumble sat himself down in the house
at which the coach stopped ; and took a temperate
dinner of steaks, oyster-sauce, and porter. Putting
a glass of hot gin-and-water on the chimney-piece,
he drew his chair to the fire ; and, with sundry moral
reflections on the too-prevalent sin of discontent and
complaining, composed himself to read the paper.

The very first paragraph upon which Mr. Bumble's
eye rested was the following advertisement :

"FIVE GUINEAS REWARD.

" Whereas a young boy, named Oliver Twist, absconded, or
was enticed, on Thursday evening last, from his home, at Pen-
tonville, and has not since been heard of. The above reward
will be paid to any person who will give such information as
will lead to the discovery of the said Oliver Twist, or tend to
throw any light upon his previous history, in which the adver
tiser is, for many reasons, warmly interested."

And then followed a full description of Oliver's
dn-ss, person, appearance, and disappearance ; with
the name and address of Mr. Brownlow at full length.

Mr. Bumble opened his eyes ; read the advertise
ment, slowly and carefully, three several times ; and

in something more than five minutes was on his way
to Pentouville ; having actually, in his excitement,
left the glass of hot gin-and-water nutasted.

" Is Mr. Brownlow at home ?" inquired Mr. Bumble
of the girl who opened the door.

To this inquiry* the girl returned the not uncom
mon, but rather evasive reply of, " I don't know ;
where do you come from ?"

Mr. Bumble no sooner uttered Oliver's name, in ex
planation of his errand, than Mrs. Bedwin, who had
been listening at the parlor-door, hastened into the
passage in a breathless state.

" Come in, come in," said the old lady : " I knew we
should hear of him. Poor dear ! I knew we should.
I was certain of it. Bless his heart ! I said so, all
along."

Having said this, the worthy old lady hurried back
into the parlor again ; and seating herself on a sofa,
burst into tears. The girl, who was not quite so sus
ceptible, had run up stairs meanwhile ; and now re
turned with a request that Mr. Bumble would follow
her immediately ; which he did.

He was shown into the little back study, where sat
Mr. Brownlow and his friend Mr. Grimwig, with de
canters and glasses before them. The latter gentle
man at once burst into the exclamation :

"A beadle ! A parish beadle, or I'll eat my head !"

"Pray don't interrupt just now," said Mr. Brown-
low. " Take a seat, will you ?"

Mr. Bumble sat himself down, quite confounded by
the oddity of Mr. Grimwig's manner. Mr. Brownlow
moved the lamp, so as to obtain an uninterrupted
view of the beadle's countenance ; and said, with a
little impatience,

" Now, sir, you come in consequence of having seen
the advertisement ?"

" Yes, sir," said Mr. Bumble.

"And you are a beadle, are you not ?" inquired Mr.
Grimwig.

" I am a porochial beadle, gentlemen," rejoined Mr.
Bumble, proudly.

" Of course," observed Mr. Grimwig, aside, to his
friend. " I knew he was. A beadle all over!"

Mr. Brownlow gently shook his head to impose si
lence on his friend, and resumed :

" Do you know where this poor boy is now ?"

" No more than nobody," replied Mr. Bumble.

" Well, what do you know of him ?" inquired the
old gentleman. " Speak out, my friend, if you have
any thing to say. What do you know of him f '

" You don't happen to know any good of him, do
you ?" said Mr. Grimwig, caustically ; after an atten
tive perusal of Mr. Bumble's features.

Mr. Bumble, catching at the inquiry very quickly,
shook his head with portentous solemnity.

" You see ?" said Mr. Grimwig, looking triumph
antly at Mr. Brownlow.

Mr. Brownlow looked apprehensively at Mr. Bum
ble's pursed-up countenance ; and requested him to
communicate what he knew regarding Oliver, in as
few words as possible.

Mr. Bumble put down his hat ; unbuttoned his
coat ; folded his arms ; inclined his head in a retro
spective manner ; and after a few moments' reflec
tion, commenced his story.

It would be tedious if given in the beadle's words,

OLIVER TWIST.

occupying, as it did, some twenty minutes in the tell
ing ; but the sum and substance of it was, That Ol
iver was a foundling, born of low and vicious par
ents. That he had, from his birth, displayed no
better qualities than treachery, ingratitude, and mal
ice. That he had terminated his brief career in the
place of his birth, by making a sanguinary and cow
ardly attack on an unoffending lad, and running
away in the night-time from his master's house. In
proof of his really being the person he represented
himself, Mr. Bumble laid upon the table the papers
he had brought to town. Folding his arms again,
he then awaited Mr. Brownlow's observations.

" I fear it is all too true," said the old gentleman
sorrowfully, after looking over the papers. " This is

" It can't be, sir. It can not be," said the old lady,
energetically.

"I tell you he is," retorted the old gentleman.
"What do you mean by can't bef We have just
heard a full account of him from his birth; and he
has been a thorough-paced little villain all his life."

" I never will believe it, sir," replied the old lady,
firmly. " Never !"

" You old women never believe any thing but
quack doctors and lying story-books," growled Mr.
Grimwig. " I knew it all along. Why didn't you
take my advice in the beginning ; you would, if he
hadn't had a fever, I suppose, eh ? He was interest
ing, wasn't he ? Interesting ! Bah !" And Mr. Grim-
wig poked the fire with a flourish.

"A BEADLE! A PABISU BEADLE, OE I'LL EAT MY HEAD."

not mucn for your intelligence ; but I would gladly
have given you treble the money, if it had been fa
vorable to the boy."

. It is not improbable that if Mr. Bumble had been
possessed of this information at an earlier period of
the interview, he might have imparted a very differ
ent coloring to his little history. It was too late to
do it now, however ; so he shook his head gravely,
and, pocketing the five guineas, withdrew.

Mr. Brownlow paced the room to and fro for some
minutes ; evidently so ' much disturbed by the bea
dle's tale, that even Mr. Grimwig forbore to vex him
further.

At length he stopped, and rang the bell violently.

" Mrs. Bed win," said Mr. Brownlow, when the house
keeper appeared; "that boy, Oliver, is an impostor."

" He was a dear, grateful, gentle child, sir," retort
ed Mrs. Bedwiu, indignantly. " I know what chil
dren are, sir, and have done these forty years ; and
people who can't say the same, shouldn't say auy
thing about them. That's my opinion !"

This was a hard hit at Mr. Grimwig, Avho was a
bachelor. As it extorted nothing from that gentle
man but a smile, the old lady tossed her head, and
smoothed down her apron preparatory to another
speech, when she was stopped by Mr. Brownlow.

" Silence !" said the old gentleman, feigning an
anger he was far from feeling. " Never let me hear
the boy's name again. I rang to tell you that.
Never. Never, on any pretense, mind ! You may
leave the room, Mrs. Bedwiu. Remember! I am iu
earnest."

A LONELY PLACE TO LIFE

There were sad hearts at Mr. Brownlow's that
night.

Oliver's heart sank within him, when he thought
of his good kind friends ; it was well for him that he
could not know what they had heard, or it might
have broken outright.

CHAPTER XVIII.

HOW OLIVER PASSED HIS TIME IN THE IMPROVING SO
CIETY OF HIS REPUTABLE FRIENDS.

ABOUT noon next day, when the Dodger and
Master Bates had gone out to pursue their cus
tomary avocations, Mr. Fagiu took the opportunity
of reading Oliver a long lecture on the crying sin of
ingratitude : of which he clearly demonstrated he
had been guilty, to no ordinary extent, in willfully
absenting himself from the society of his anxious
friends; and, still more, in endeavoring to escape
from them after so much trouble and expense had
been incurred in his recovery. Mr. Fagin laid great
stress on the fact of his having taken Oliver in, and
cherished him, when, without his timely aid, he might
have perished with hunger ; and he related the dis
mal and affecting history of a young lad whom, in
his philanthropy, he had succored under parallel cir
cumstances, but who, proving unworthy of his confi
dence and evincing a desire to communicate with the
police, had unfortunately come to be hanged at the
Old Bailey one morning. Mr. Fagin did not seek to
conceal his share in the catastrophe, but lamented
with tears in his eyes that the wrong-headed and
treacherous behavior of the young person in ques
tion had rendered it necessary that he should become
the victim of certain evidence for the crown : which,
if it were not precisely true, was indispensably nec
essary for the safety of him (Mr. Fagin) and a few
select friends. Mr. Fagin concluded by drawing a
rather disagreeable picture of the discomforts of
hanging ; and, with great friendliness and politeness
of manner, expressed his anxious hopes that he might
never be obliged to submit Oliver Twist to that un
pleasant operation.

Little Oliver's blood ran cold, as he listened to the
Jew's words, and imperfectly comprehended the dark
threats conveyed in them. That it was possible even
for justice itself to confound the innocent with the
guilty when they were in accidental companionship,
he knew already ; and that deeply-laid plans for the
destruction of inconveniently knowing or over-com
municative persons, had been really devised and car
ried out by the old Jew on more occasions than one,
he thought by no means unlikely, when he recol
lected the general nature of the altercations between
that gentleman and Mr. Sikes, which seemed to bear
reference to some foregone conspiracy of the kind.
As he glanced timidly up, and met the Jew's search
ing look, he felt that his pale face and trembling
limbs were neither unnoticed nor unrelished by that
wary old gentleman.

The Jew, smiling hideously, patted Oliver on the
head, and said, that if he kept himself quiet, and ap
plied himself to business, he saw they would be very
good friends yet. Then, taking his hat, and covering

himself with an old patched great-coat, he went out,
and locked the room-door behind him.

And so Oliver remained all that day, and for the
greater part of many subsequent days, seeing no
body between early morning and midnight, and left
during the long hours to commune with his own
thoughts ; which, never failing to revert to his kind
friends, and the opinion they must long ago have
formed of him, were sad indeed.

After the lapse of a week or so, the Jew left the
room-door unlocked ; and he was at liberty to wan
der about the house.

It was a very dirty place. The rooms up stairs
had great high wooden chimney-pieces and large
doors, with paneled walls and cornices to the ceil
ings ; which, although they were black with neglect
and dust, were ornamented in various ways. From
all of these tokens Oliver concluded that a long time
ago, before the old Jew was born, it had belonged to
better people, and had perhaps been quite gay and
handsome : dismal and dreary as it looked now.

Spiders had built their webs in the angles of the
walls and ceilings; and sometimes, when Oliver
walked softly into a room, the mice would scamper
across the floor and run back terrified to their holes.
With these exceptions, there was neither sight nor
sound of any living thing ; and often, when it grew
dark, and he was tired of wandering from room to
room, he would crouch in the comer of the passage
by the street-door, to be as near living people as he
could ; and would remain there, listening and count
ing the hours, until the Jew or the boys returned.

In all the rooms the mouldering shutters were fast
closed : the bars which held them were screwed tight
into the wood; the only light which was admitted
stealing its Way through round holes at the top ;
which made the rooms more gloomy, and filled them
with strange shadows. There was a back-garret
window with rusty bars outside, which had no shut
ter ; and out of this Oliver often gazed with a mel
ancholy face for hours together ; but nothing was to
be descried from it but a confused and crowded mass
of house-tops, blackened chimneys, and gable-ends.
Sometimes, indeed, a grizzly head might be seen
peering over the parapet-wall of a distant house:
but it was quickly withdrawn again ; and as the
window of Oliver's observatory was nailed down,
and dimmed with the rain and smoke of years, it was
as much as he could do to make out the forms of the
different objects beyond, without making any at
tempt to be seen or heWd which he had as much
chance of being, as if he had lived inside the ball of
St. Paul's Cathedral.

One afternoon, the Dodger and Master Bates being
engaged out that evening, the first -named young
gentleman took it into his head to evince some anx
iety regarding the decoration of his person (to do
him justice, this was by no means an habitual weak
ness with him) ; and, with this end and aim, he con
descendingly commanded Oliver to assist him in his
toilet straightway.

Oliver was but too glad to make himself useful
too happy to have some faces, however bad, to look
upon too desirous to "conciliate those about him
when he could honestly do so to throw any objec
tion in the way of this proposal. So he at once ex-

OLIVER TWIST.

pressed his readiness; and, kneeling on the floor,
while the Dodger sat upon the table so that he could
take his foot in his lap, he applied himself to a proc
ess which Mr. Daw kins designated as "japanning
his trotter-cases." The phrase, rendered into plain
English, siguifieth, cleaning his boots.

Whether it was the sense of freedom and inde
pendence which a rational animal may be supposed
to feel when he sits on a table in an easy attitude
smoking a pipe, swinging one leg carelessly to and
fro, and having his boots cleaned all the time, with
out even the past trouble of having taken them off,
or the prospective misery of putting them on, to dis
turb his reflections ; or whether it was the goodness
of the tobacco that soothed the feelings of the Dodg
er, or the mildness of the beer that mollified his
thoughts ; he was evidently tinctured, for the nonce,
with a spice of romance and enthusiasm, foreign to
his general nature. He looked down on Oliver, with
a thoughtful countenance, for a brief space; and
then, raising his head, and heaving a gentle sigh,
said, half in abstraction, and half to Master Bates :

" What a pity it is he isn't a prig !"

"Ah!" said Master Charles Bates, "he don't know
what's good for him."

The Dodger sighed again, and resumed his pipe,
as did Charley Bates. They both smoked, for some
seconds, in silence.

" I suppose you don't even know what a prig is ?"
said the Dodger, mournfully.

" I think I know that," replied Oliver, looking up.
" It's a th ; you're one, are you not ?" inquired Oli
ver, checking himself.

" I am," replied the Dodger. " I'd scorn to be
any thing else." Mr. Dawkins gave his hat a fero
cious cock, after delivering this sentiment, and look
ed at Master Bates, as if to denote that he would
feel obliged by his saying any thing to the con
trary.

" I am," repeated the Dodger. " So's Charley. So's
Fagin. So's Sikes. So's Nancy. So's Bet. So we
all are, down to the dog. And he's the downiest one
of the lot!"

"And the least given to peaching," added Charley
Bates.

" He wouldn't so much as bark in a witness-box,
for fear of committing himself; no, not if you tied
him up in one, and left him there without wittles
for a fortnight," said the Dodger.

" Not a bit of it," observed Charley.

"He's a rum dog. Don't he look fierce at any
strange cove that laughs or sings when he's in com
pany !" pursued the Dodger. "Won't he growl at
all, when he hears a fiddle playing ! And don't he
hate other dogs as ain't of his breed ! Oh, no !"

" He's an out-and-out Christian," said Charley.

This was merely intended as a tribute to the ani
mal's abilities, but it was an appropriate remark in
another sense, if Master Bates had only known it ;
for there are a good many ladies and gentlemen,
claiming to be out-and-out Christians, between
whom and Mr. Sikes's dog there exist strong and
singular points of resemblance.

"Well, well," said the Dodger, recurring to the
point from which they had strayed ; with that mind-
fulness of his profession which influenced all his pro

ceedings. "This hasn't got any thing to do with
young Green here."

" No more it has," said Charley. "Why don't you
put yourself under Fagiu, Oliver ?"

"And make your fortim' out of hand?" added the
Dodger, with a grin.

"And so be able to retire on your property, and do
the gen-teel, as I mean to, in the very next leap-year
but four that ever comes, and the forty-second Tues
day in Trinity-week," said Charles Bates.

" I don't like it," rejoined Oliver, timidly ; " I wish
they would let me go. I I would rather go."

" And Fagiu would rathw not !" rejoined Charley.

Oliver knew this too well ; but thinking it might
be dangerous to express his feelings more openly, he
only sighed, and went on with his boot-cleaning.

" Go !" exclaimed the Dodger. " Why, where's
your spirit ? Don't you take any pride out of your
self? Would you go and be dependent on your
friends ?"

" Oh, blow that !" said Master Bates, drawing two
or three silk handkerchiefs from his pocket, and
tossing them into a cupboard, " that's too mean,
that is."

" / couldn't do it," said the Dodger, with an air of
haughty disgust.

" You can leave your friends, though," said Oliver,
with a half smile ; " and let them be punished for
Avhat you did."

" That," rejoined the Dodger, with a wave of his
pipe " that was all out of consideration for Fagiu,
'cause the traps know that we work together, and he
might have got into trouble if we hadn't made our
lucky ; that was the move, wasn't it, Charley f

Master Bates nodded assent, and would have
spoken, but the recollection of Oliver's flight came
so suddenly upon him, that the smoke he was inhal
ing got entangled with a laugh, and went up into
his head, and down into his throat ; and brought on
a fit of coughing and stamping, about five minutes
long.

" Look here !" said the Dodger, drawing forth a
handful of shillings and halfpence. " Here's a jolly
life ! What's the odds where it comes from I Here,
catch hold; there's plenty more where they were
took from. You won't, won't you ? Oh, you pre
cious flat !"

" It's naughty, ain't it, Oliver ?" inquired Charley
Bates. " He'll come to be scragged, won't he f '

" I don't know what that means," replied Oliver.

" Something in this way, old feller," said Charley.
As he said it, Master Bates caught up an end of his
neckerchief, and, holding it erect in the air, dropped
his head on his shoulder, and jerked a curious sound
through his teeth ; thereby indicating, by a lively
pantomimic representation, that scragging and hang
ing were one and the same thing.

" That's what it means," said Charley. " Look how
he stares, Jack! I never did see such prime compa
ny as that 'ere boy ; he'll be the death of me, I know
he will." Master Charles Bates, having laughed
heartily again, resumed his pipe with tears in his
eyes.

" You've been brought up bad," said the Dodger,
surveying his boots with much satisfaction when Ol
iver had polished them. " Fagin will make some-

IMPROVING ADVICE.

thing of you, though, or you'll be the first he ever '
had that turned out unprofitable. You'd better be
gin at once ; for you'll come to the trade long before
you think of it ; and you're only losing time, Oliver.''

Master Bates backed this advice with sundry mor
al admonitions of his own: which, being exhausted,
he and his friend Mr. Dawkins launched into a glow
ing description of the numerous pleasures incidental
to the life they led, interspersed with a variety of
hints to Oliver that the best thing he could do
would be to secure Fagin's favor without more de
lay, by the means which they themselves had em
ployed to gain it.

"And always put this in your pipe, Nolly," said the
Dodger, as the Jew was heard unlocking the door
above, " if you don't take fogies and tickers :

" What's the good of talking in that way ?" inter
posed Master Bates: " he don't know what you mean."

" If you don't take pocket - handkechers and
watches," said the Dodger, reducing his conversation
to the level of Oliver's capacity, "some other cove
will ; so that the coves that lose 'em will be all the
worse, and you'll be all the worse too, and nobody
half a ha'p'orth the better, except the chaps wot
gets them and you've just as good a right to them
as they have."

" To be sura, to be sure !" said the Jew, who had
entered, unseen by Oliver. " It all lies in a nutshell,
my dear in a nutshell, take the Dodger's word for
it. Ha ! ha ! ha ! He understands the catechism of
his trade."

The old man rubbed his hands gleefully together,
as he corroborated the Dodger's reasoning in these
terms ; and chuckled with delight at his pupil's pro-
ticiency.

The conversation proceeded no further at this time,
for the Jew had returned home accompanied by Miss
Betsy, and a gentleman whom Oliver had never seen
before, but who was accosted by the Dodger as Tom
Chitling; and who having lingered on the stairs to
exchange a few gallantries with the lady, now made
his appearance.

Mr. Chitling was older in years than the Dodger ;
having perhaps numbered eighteen winters; but
there was a degree of deference in his deportment
toward that young gentleman which seemed to in
dicate that he felt himself conscious of a slight in
feriority in point of genius and professional acquire
ments. He had small twinkling eyes, and a pock
marked face; wore a fur cap, a dark corduroy jacket,
greasy fustian trowsers, and an apron. His ward
robe was, in truth, rather out of repair ; but he ex
cused himself to the company by stating that his
" time " was only out an hour before ; and that, in
consequence of having worn the regimentals for six
weeks past, he had not been able to bestow any at
tention on his private clothes. Mr. Chitling added,
with strong marks of irritation, that the new way of
fumigating clothes up yonder was infernal unconsti
tutional, for it burned holes in them, and there was
no remedy against the county. The same remark he
considered to apply to the regulation mode of cut
ting the hair, which he held to be decidedly unlaw
ful. Mr. Chitling wound up his observations by stat
ing that he had not touched a drop of any thing for
forty-two mortal long hard-working days ; and that

he " wished he might be busted if he warn't as dry
as a lime-basket."

"Where do you think the gentleman has come
from, Oliver f" inquired the Jew, with a grin, as the
other boys put a bottle of spirits on the table.

" I I don't know, sir," replied Oliver.

" Who's that ?" inquired Tom Chitliug, casting a
contemptuous look at Oliver.

"A young friend of mine, my dear," replied the
Jew.

" He's in luck, then," said the young man, with a
meaning look at Fagin. " Never mind where I came
from, young 'un ; you'll find your way there soon
enough, I'll bet a crown !"

At this sally the boys laughed. After some more
jokes on the same subject, they exchanged a few
short whispers with Fagiu, and withdrew.

After some words apart between the last comer
and Fagin, they drew their chairs toward the fire ;
and the Jew, telling Oliver to come and sit by him,
led the conversation to the topics most calculated to
interest his hearers. These were, the great advan
tages of the trade, the proficiency of the Dodger, the
amiability of Charley Bates, and the liberality of the
Jew himself. At length these subjects displayed
signs of being thoroughly exhausted ; and Mr. Chit-
ling did the same ; for the house of correction be
comes fatiguing after a week or two. Miss Betsy
accordingly withdrew ; and left the party to their
repose.

From this day, Oliver was seldom left alone ; but
was placed in almost constant communication with
the two boys, who played the old game with the
Jew every day ; whether for their own improvement
or Oliver's, Mr. Fagin best knew. At other times the
old man would tell them stories of robberies ho had
committed in his younger days ; mixed up with so
much that was droll and curious, that Oliver could
not help laughing heartily, and showing that he was
amused, in spite of all his better feelings.

In short, the wily old Jew had the boy in his toils.
Having prepared his mind, by solitude and gloom, to
prefer any society to the companionship of his own
sad thoughts in such a dreary place, he was now
slowly instilling into his soul the poison which he
hoped would blacken it, and change its hue forever.

CHAPTER XIX.

IN WHICH A NOTABLE PLAN* IS DISCUSSED AND DETER
MINED ON.

IT was a chill, damp, windy night, when the Jew,
buttoning his great-coat tight rdund his shriveled
body, and pulling the collar up over his ears so as
completely to obscnre the lower part of his face,
emerged from his den. He paused on the step as
the door was locked and chained behind him ; and
having listened while the boys made all secure, and
until their retreating footsteps were no longer audi
ble, slunk down the street as quickly as he could.

The house to which Oliver had been conveyed
was in the neighborhood of Whitechapel. The Jew
stopped for an instant at the corner of the street;

OLIVER TWIST.

and, glancing suspiciously round, crossed the road,
and strnck off in the direction of Spitalfields.

The mnd lay thick .upon the stones, and a black
mist hung over the streets ; the rain fell sluggishly
down, and every thing felt cold and clammy to the
touch. It seemed just the night when it befitted
such a being as the Jew to be abroad. As he glided
stealthily along, creeping beneath the shelter of the
walls and door-ways, the hideous old man seemed
like some loathsome reptile, engendered in the slime
and darkness through which he moved; crawling
forth, by night, in search of some rich offal for a
meal.

He kept on his course, through many winding and
narrow ways, until he reached Bethnal Green ; then,
turning suddenly off to the left, he soon became in
volved in a maze of the mean and dirty streets Avhich
abound in that close and densely-populated quarter.

The Jew was evidently too familiar with the
ground he traversed to be at all bewildered, either
by the darkness of the night, or the intricacies of
the way. He hurried through several alleys and
streets, and at length turned into one, lighted only
by a single lamp at the farther end. At the door
of a house in this street he knocked; having ex
changed a few muttered words with the person who
opened it, he walked up stairs.

A dog growled as he touched the handle of a room-
door ; and a man's voice demanded who was there.

" Only me, Bill ; only me, my dear," said the Jew,
looking in.

"Bring in your body, then," said Sikes. "Lie
down, you stupid brute ! Don't you know the devil
when he's got a great-coat on ?"

Apparently, the dog had been somewhat deceived
by Mr. Fagin's outer garment ; for as the Jew unbut
toned it, and threw it over the back of a chair, he
retired to the corner from which he had risen ; wag
ging his tail as he went, to show that he was as well
satisfied as it was in his nature to be.

"Well!" said Sikes.

"Well, my dear," replied the Jew. "Ah! Nancy."

The latter recognition was uttered with just enough
of embarrassment to imply a doubt of its reception ;
for Mr. Fagin and his young friend had not met since
she had interfered in behalf of Oliver. All doubts
upon the subject, if he had any, were speedily re
moved by the young lady's behavior. She took her
feet off the fender, pushed back her chair, and bade
Fagin draw up his, without saying more about it :
for it was a cold night, and no mistake.

" It is cold, Nancy dear," said the Jew, as he warm
ed his skinny hands over the fire. " It seems to go
ri^-ht through one," aided the old man, touching his
side.

" It must be a piercer, if it finds its way through
your heart," said Mr. Sikes. " Give him something
to drink, Nancy. Burn my body, make haste ! It's
enough to turn a man ill, to see his lean old carcass
shivering in that way, like a ugly ghost just rose
from the grave."

Nancy quickly brought a bottle from a cupboard,
in which there were many : which, to judge from the
diversity of their appearance, were filled with several
kinds of liquids. Sikes, pouring out a glass of bran
dy, bade the Jew drink it off.

" Quite enough, quite, thankye, Bill," replied the
Jew, putting down the glass after just setting his
lips to it.

" What ! You're afraid of our getting the better
of you, are you f" inquired Sikes, fixing his eyes on
the Jew. " Ugh !"

With a hoarse grunt of contempt, Mr. Sikes seized
the glass, and threw the remainder of its contents
into the ashes, as a preparatory ceremony to filling
it again for himself, which he did at once.

The Jew glanced round the room as his compan
ion tossed down the second glassful ; not in curiosity,
for he had seen it often before ; but in a restless and
suspicious manner habitual to him. It was a meanly
furnished apartment, with nothing but the contents
of the closet to induce the belief that its occupier
was any thing but a working-man; and with no
more suspicious articles displayed to view than two
or three heavy bludgeons which stood in a corner,
and a " life-preserver " that himg over the chimney-
piece.

" There," said Sikes, smacking his lips. " Now I'm
ready."

" For business ?" inquired the Jew.

" For business," replied Sikes ; " so say what you've
got to say."

"About the crib at Chertsey, Bill?" said the Jew,
drawing his chair forward, and speaking in a very
low voice.

" Yes. Wot about it ?" inquired Sikes.

"Ah! you know what I mean, my dear," said the
Jew. " He knows what I mean, Nancy ; don't he ?"

"No, he don't," sneered Mr. Sikes. " Or he won't,
and that's the same thing. Speak out, and call things
by their right names ; don't sit there winking and
blinking, and talking to me in hints, as if you warn't
the very first that thought about the robbery. Wot
d'ye mean?"

" Hush, Bill, hush !" said the Jew, who had in vain
attempted to stop this burst of indignation ; " some
body will hear us, my dear somebody will hear us.' ;

" Let 'eui hear !" said Sikes ; " I don't care." But
as Mr. Sikes did care, on reflection, he dropped his
voice as he said the words, and grew calmer.

" There, there," said the Jew, coaxingly. " It was
only my caution, nothing more. Now, my dear,
about that crib at Chertsey ; when is it to be done,
Bill, eh ? When is it to be done ? Such plate, my
dear, such plate !" said the Jew ; nibbing his hands,
and elevating his eyebrows in a rapture of antici
pation.

" Not at all," replied Sikes, coldly.

" Not to be done at all !" echoed the Jew, leaning
back in his chair.

" No, not at all," rejoined Sikes. "At least it can't
be a put-up job, as we expected."

" Then it hasn't been properly gone about," said
the Jew, turning pale with anger. " Don't tell me !"

"But I will tell you," retorted Sikes. "Who are
you that's not to be told? I tell yoti that Toby
Crackit has been hanging about the place for a fort
night, and he can't get one of the servants into a
line."

" Do you mean to tell me, Bill," said the Jew, soft
ening as the other grew heated, " that neither of the
two men in the house can be got over ?"

BUSINESS AFOOT.

"Yes, I do mean to tell you so/' replied Sikes.
" The old lady has had 'em these twenty year ; and
if you were to give 'em five hundred pound, they
wouldn't be in it."

" But do you mean to say, my dear," remonstrated
the Jew, " that the \vomeu can't be got over ?"

" Not a bit of it," replied Sikes.

" Not by flash Toby Crackit ?" said the Jew, in
credulously. " Think what women are, Bill."

"No; not even by flash Toby Crackit," replied
Sikes. "He says he's worn sham whiskers, and a
canary waistcoat, the whole blessed time he's been
loitering down there, and it's all of no use."

"He should have tried mustaches and a pair of
military trowsers, my dear," said the Jew.

" So he did," rejoined Sikes, " and they waru't of
no more use than the other plant."

The Jew looked blank at this information. After
ruminating for some minutes with his chin sunk on
his breast, he raised his head and said, with a deep
sigh, that if flash Toby Crackit reported aright, he
feared the game was up.

"And yet," said the old man, dropping his hands
on his knees, " it's a sad thing, my dear, to lose so
much when we had set our hearts upon it."

" So it is," said Mr. Sikes. " Worse luck !"

A long silence ensued ; during which the Jew was
plunged in deep thought, with his face wrinkled
into an expression of villainy perfectly demoniacal.
Sikes eyed him furtively from time to time. Nancy,
apparently fearful of irritating the house-breaker, sat
with her eyes fixed upon the fire, as if she had been
deaf to all that passed.

" Fagin," said Sikes, abruptly breaking the still
ness that prevailed ; " is it worth fifty shiners extra,
if it's safely done from the outside ?"

" Yes," said the Jew, as suddenly rousing himself.

" Is it a bargain ?" inquired Sikes.

"Yes, my dear, yes," rejoined the Jew; his eyes
glistening, and every muscle in his face working
with the excitement that the inquiry had awakened.

"Then," said Sikes, thrusting aside the Jew's
hand, with some disdain, " let it come off as soon as
you like. Toby and me \vere over the garden- wall
the night afore last, sounding the panels of the door
and shutters. The crib's barred up at night like a
jail ; but there's one part we can crack safe and
softly."

"Which is that, Bill ?" asked the Jew, eagerly.

" Why," whispered Sikes, " as you cross the lawn "

" Yes," said the Jew, bending his head forward,
with his eyes almost starting out of it.

" Umph !" cried Sikes, stopping short, as the girl,
scarcely moving her head, looked suddenly round,
and pointed for an instant to the Jew's face. " Nev
er mind which part it is. You can't do it without
me, I know ; but it's best to be on the safe side when
one deals with you."

"As you like, my dear, as yon like," replied the
Jew. "Is there no help wanted but yours and
Toby's r

"None," said Sikes. "'Cept a centre -bit and a
boy. The first we've both got ; the second you must
find us."

"A boy!" exclaimed the Jew. "Oh! then it's a
panel, eh ?"

" Never mind wot it is !" replied Sikes. " I want
a boy, and he musu't be a big un. Lord !" said Mr.
Sikes, reflectively, " if I'd only got that young boy
of Ned, the chimbley-sweeper's ! He kept" him small
on purpose, and let him out by the job. But the fa
ther gets lagged ; and then the Juvenile Delinquent
Society comes and takes the boy away from a trade
where he was arniug money, teaches him to read and
write, and in time makes a 'prentice of him. And so
they go on," said Mr. Sikes, his wrath rising with the
recollection of his wrongs, " so they go on ; and, if
they'd got money enough (which it's a Providence
they haven't), wo shouldn't have half a dozen boys
left in the whole trade, in a year or two."

"No more we should," acquiesced the Jew, who
had been considering during this speech, and had
only caiight the last sentence. "Bill!"

"What now ?" inquired Sikes.

The Jew nodded his head toward Nancy, who was
still gazing at the lire ; and intimated by a sign that
he would have told her to leave the room. Sikes
shrugged his shoulders impatiently, as if he thought
the precaution unnecessary ; but complied, neverthe
less, by requesting Miss Nancy to fetch him a jug of
beer.

" You don't want any beer," said Nancy, folding
her arms, and retaining her seat very composedly.

" I tell you I do," replied Sikes.

" Nonsense !" rejoined the girl, coolly. " Go on, Fa-
gin. I know what he's going to say, Bill ; he needn't
mind me."

The Jew still hesitated. Sikes looked from one to
the other in some surprise.

"Why, you don't mind the old girl, do you, Fa-
gin '?" he asked at length. " You've known her long
enough to trust her, or the Devil's in it. She ain't
one to blab. Are you, Nancy ?"

"/should think not!'' replied the young lady:
drawing her chair up to the table, and putting her
elbows upon it.

" No, no, my dear, I know you're not," said the
Jew ; " but " and again the old man paused.

" But wot ?" inquired Sikes.

" I didn't know whether she mightn't pYaps be
out of sorts, you know, my dear, as she was the other
night," replied the Jew.

At this confession Miss Nancy burst into a loud
laugh ; and, swallowing a glass of brandy, shook her
head with an air of defiance, and burst into sundry
exclamations of " Keep the game a-going !" " Never
say die !" and the like. These seemed to have the
effect of reassuring both gentlemen ; for the Jew
nodded his head with a satisfied air, and resumed his
seat : as did Mr. Sikes likewise.

" Now, Fagin," said Nancy, with a laugh, " tell Bill
at once about Oliver !"

" Ha ! you're a clever one, my dear ; the sharpest
girl I ever saw !" said the Jew, patting her on the
neck. " It was about Oliver I was going to speak,
sure enough. Ha! ha! ha!"

"What about him?" demanded Sikes-

"He's the boy for you, my dear," replied the Jew,
in a hoarse whisper, laying his finger on the side of
his nose, and grinning frightfully.

" He !" exclaimed Sikes.

" Have him, Bill !" said Nancy. " I would, if I was

OLIVER TWIST.

in your place. He mayn't be so much up as any of
the others ; but that's not what you want, if he's only
to open a door for you. Depend upon it he's a safe
one, Bill."

"I know he is," rejoined Fagin. "He's been in
good training these last few weeks, and it's time he
began to Avork for his bread. Besides, the others are
all too big."

" Well, he is just the size I want," said Mr. Sikes,
ruminating.

"And will do every thing you want, Bill, my dear,"
interposed the Jew ; " he can't help himself. That
is, if you frighten him enough."

" Frighten him !" echoed Sikes. " It'll be no sham

" Ours !" said Sikes. " Yours, you mean."

" Perhaps I do, my dear," said the Jew with a shrill
chuckle. " Mine, if you like, Bill."

"And wot," said Sikes, scowling fiercely on his
agreeable friend, "wot makes you take so much
pains about one chalk -faced kid, when you know
there are fifty boys snoozing about Common Garden
every night, as you might pick and choose from ?"

" Because they're of no use to me, my dear," re
plied the Jew, with some confusion, " not worth the
taking. Their looks convict 'em when they get into
trouble, and I lose 'em all. With this boy, properly
managed, my dears, I could do what I couldn't with
twenty of them. Besides," said the Jew, recovering

'lIIE BOY WAS LYING, FAST ASLEEP, ON A RUDE BED UPON TUB FLOOR.

frightening, mind you. If there's any thing queer
about him when we once get into the work ; in for
a penny, in for a pound. You won't see him alive
again, Fagin. Think of that before you send him.
Mark my words !" said the robber, poising a crow
bar, which he had drawn from under the bedstead.

" I've thought of it all," said the Jew, with energy.
" I've I've had my eye upon him, my dears, close
close. Once- let him feel that he is one of us once
fill his mind with the idea that he has been a thief
and he's ours ! Ours for his life. Oho ! It couldn't
have come about better !" The old man crossed his
arms upon his breast, and, drawing his head and shoul
ders into a heap, literally hugged himself for joy.

his self-possession, " he has us now if he could only
give us leg-bail again ; and he must be in the same
boat with us. Never mind how he came there ; it's
quite enough for my power over him that he was in
a robbery ; that's all I want. Now, how much bet
ter this is than being obliged to put the poor leetle
boy out of the way which would be dangerous, and
we should lose by it besides."

" When is it to be done ?" asked Nancy, stopping
some turbulent exclamation on the part of Mr. Sikes,
expressive of the disgust with which he received Fa-
gin's affectation of humanity.

"Ah, to be sure," said the Jew; "when is it to be
done, Bill T"

THE VERT EOT FOR THE PURPOSE.

" I planned with Toby, the night arter to-morrow,"
rejoined Sikes in a surly voice, " if he heerd nothing
from me to the contrairy."

" Good," said the Jew ; " there's no moon."

"No," rejoined Sikes.

" It's all arranged about bringing off the swag, is
it ?" asked the Jew.

Sikes nodded.

"And about"

" Oh, ah, it's all planned," rejoined Sikes, inter
rupting him. " Never mind particulars. You'd bet
ter bring the boy here to-morrow night. I shall get
off the stones an hour arter daybreak. Then you
hold your tongue, and keep the melting-pot ready,
and that's all you'll have to do."

After some discussion, in which all three took an
active part, it was decided that Nancy should repair
to the Jew's next evening when the night had set
in, and bring Oliver away with her; Fagin craftily
observing that, if he evinced any disinclination to
the task, he would be more willing to accompany
the girl who had so recently interfered in his behalf,
than any body else. It was also solemnly arranged
that poor Oliver should, for the purposes of the con
templated expedition, be unreservedly consigned to
the care and custody of Mr. William Sikes ; and fur
ther, that the said Sikes should deal with him as he
thought fit ; and should not be held responsible by
the Jew for any mischance or evil that might befall
him, or any punishment w r ith which it might be nec
essary to visit him : it being understood that, to ren
der the compact in this respect binding, any repre
sentations made by Mr. Sikes on his return should
be required to be confirmed and corroborated, in all
important particulars, by the testimony of flash Toby
Crackit.

These preliminaries adjusted, Mr. Sikes proceeded
to drink brandy at a furious rate, and to flourish the
crowbar in an alarming manner ; yelling forth, at
the same time, most unmusical snatches of song, min
gled with wild execrations. At length, in a fit of
professional enthusiasm, he insisted upon producing
his box of house-breaking tools : which he had no
sooner stumbled in with, and opened for the purpose
of explaining the nature and properties of the vari
ous implements it contained, and the peculiar beau
ties of their construction, than he fell over the box
upon the floor, and went to sleep where he fell.

" Good-night, Nancy," said the Jew, muffling him
self up as before.

" Good-night."

Their eyes met, and the Jew scrutinized her nar
rowly. There was no flinching about the girl. She
was as true and earnest in the matter as Toby Crack-
it himself could be.

The Jew again bade her good-night, and, bestow
ing a sly kick upon the prostrate form of Mr. Sikes
while her back was turned, groped down stairs.

"Always the way," muttered the Jew to himself
as he turned homeward. " The worst of these wom
en is, that a very little thing serves to call up some
long-forgotten feeling ; and the best of them is, that
it nev-r lasts. Ha! ha! The man against the child,
for a bag of gold !"

Beguiling the time with these pleasant reflections,
Mr. Fagin wended his way, through mud and mire,
E

to his gloomy abode : where the Dodger was sitting
up, impatiently awaiting his return.

" Is Oliver abed ? I want to speak to him," was
his first remark as they descended the stairs.

" Hours ago," replied the Dodger, throwing open a
door. " Here he is."

The boy was lying, fast asleep, on a rude bed upon
the floor ; so pale with anxiety, and sadness, and the
closeness of his prison, that he looked like death ;
not death as it shows iu shroud and coffin, but in the
guise it wears when life has just departed ; when a
young and gentle spirit has, but an instant, fled to
Heaven, and the gross air of the world has not had
time to breathe upon the changing dust it hallowed.

"Not now," said the Jew, turning softly away.
" To-morrow. To-morrow."

CHAPTER XX.

WHEREIN OLIVER IS DELIVERED OVER TO MR. WILLIAM
SIKES.

WHEN Oliver awoke in the morning, he was a
good deal surprised to find that a new pair of
shoes, with strong thick soles, had been placed at his
bedside, and that his old shoes had been removed.
At first he was pleased with the discovery, hoping
it might be the forerunner of his release ; but such
thoughts were quickly dispelled, on his sitting down
to breakfast along with the Jew, who told him, in a
tone and manner which increased his alarm, that he
was to be taken to the residence of Bill Sikes that
night.

"To to stop there, sir?" asked Oliver, anxiously.

" No, no, my dear. Not to stop there," replied the
Jew. "We shouldn't like to lose you. Don't be
afraid, Oliver, you shall come back to us again. Ha !
ha ! ha ! We won't be so cruel as to send you away,
my dear. Oh no, no !"

The old man, who was stooping over the fire toast
ing a piece of bread, looked round as he bantered
Oliver thus; and chuckled as if to show that he
knew he would still be very glad to get away if he
could.

" I suppose," said the Jew, fixing his eyes on Oli
ver, " you want to know what you're going to Bill's
for eh, my dear ?"

Oliver colored, involuntarily, to find that the old
thief had been reading his thoughts; but boldly
said, Yes, he did want to know.

" Why, do you think ?'? inquired Fagin, parrying
the question.

" Indeed I don't know, sir," replied Oliver.

" Bah !" said the Jew, turning away v.-ith a disap
pointed countenance from a close perusal of the boy's
face. " Wait till Bill tells you, then."

The Jew seemed much vexed by Oliver's not ex
pressing any greater curiosity on the subject ; but
the truth is, that although Oliver felt very anxious,
he was too much confused by the earnest cunning
of Fagin's looks, and his own speculations, to make
any further inquiries just then. He had no other
opportunity, for the Jew remained very surly aud .si
lent till night ; when he prepared to go abroad.

" You may bum a candle," said the Jew, putting

OLIVES TWIST.

one upon the table. "And here's a book for you to
read, till they come to fetch you. Good-night !"

" Good-night !" replied Oliver, softly.

The Jew walked to the door, looking over his
shoulder at the boy as he went. Suddenly stopping,
he called him by his name.

Oliver looked up ; the Jew, pointing to the candle,
motioned him to light it. He did so ; and, as he
placed the candlestick upon the table, saw that the
Jew was gazing fixedly at him, with lowering and
contracted brows, from, the dark end of the room.

"Take heed, Oliver! take heed!" said the old man,
shaking his right hand before him in a warning
manner. "He's a rough man, and thinks nothing
of blood when his own is up. Whatever falls out,
say nothing; and do what he bids you. Mind!''
Placing a strong emphasis on the last word, he suf
fered his features gradually to resolve themselves
into a ghastly grin, and, nodding his head, left the
room.

Oliver leaned his head upon his hand when the
old man disappeared, and pondered, with a trembling
heart, on the words he had just heard. The more
he thought of the Jew's admonition, the more he was
at a loss to divine its real purpose and meaning. He
could think of no bad object to be attained by send
ing him to Sikes which would not be equally well
answered by his remaining with Fagin ; and after
meditating for a long time, concluded that he had
been selected to perform some ordinary menial of
fices for the house-breaker, until another boy, better
suited for his purpose, could be engaged. He was
too well accustomed to suffering, and had suffered
too much where he was, to bewail the prospect of
change very severely. He remained lost in thought
for some minutes ; and then, with a heavy sigh, snuff
ed the candle, and, taking up the book which the Jew
had left with him, began to read.

He turned over the leaves. Carelessly at first;
but lighting on a passage which attracted his atten
tion, he soon became intent upon the volume. It
was a history of the lives and trials of great crimi
nals, and the pages were soiled and thumbed with
use. Here he read of dreadful crimes that made the
blood run cold; of secret murders that had been
committed by the lonely wayside ; of bodies hidden
from the eye of man in deep pits and wells, which
would not keep them down, deep as they were, but
had yielded them up at last after many years, and
so maddened the murderers with the sight, that in
their horror they had confessed their guilt, and yell
ed for the gibbet to end their agony. Here, too, he
read of men Avho, lying in their beds at dead of night,
had been tempted (so they said) and led on, by their
own bad thoughts, to such dreadful bloodshed as it
made the flesh creep and the limbs quail to think
of. The terrible descriptions were so real and vivid,
that the sallow pages seemed to turn red with gore,
and the words upon them to be sounded in his ears
as if they were whispered, in hollow murmurs, by the
spirits of the dead.

In a paroxysm of fear, the boy closed the book
and thrust it from him. Then, falling upon his
knees, he prayed Heaven to spare him from such
deeds ; and rather to will that he should die at once,
than be reserved for crimes so fearful and appalling.

By degrees he grew more calm, and besought, in a
low and broken voice, that he might be rescued from
his present dangers ; and that if any aid were to be
raised up for a poor outcast boy who had never
known the love of friends or kindred, it might come
to him now, when, desolate and deserted, he stood
alone in the midst of wickedness and guilt.

He had concluded his prayer, but still remained
with his head buried in his hands, when a rustling
noise aroused him.

" What's that !" he cried, starting up, and catch
ing sight of a figure standing by the door. " Who's
there ?"

" Me. Only me," replied a tremulous voice.

Oliver raised the candle above his head, and look
ed toward the door. It was Nancy.

" Put down the light," said the girl, turning away
her head. " It hurts my eyes."

Oliver saw that she was very pale, and gently in
quired if she were ill. The girl threw herself into
a chair with her back toward him, and wrung her
hands, but made no reply.

"God forgive me!" she cried, after a while, "I
never thought of this."

" Has any thing happened ?" asked Oliver. " Can
I help you ? I will if I can. I will, indeed."

She rocked herself to and fro, caught her throat,
and, uttering a gurgling sound, gasped for breath.

" Nancy !" cried Oliver, " what is it ?"

The girl beat her hands upon her knees, and her
feet upon the ground; and, suddenly stopping, drew
her shawl close round her, and shivered with cold.

Oliver stirred the fire. Drawing her chair close
to it, she sat there for a little time, without speak
ing ; but at length she raised her head, and looked
round.

"I don't know what comes over me sometimes,"
said she, affecting to busy herself in arranging her
dress ; " it's this damp, dirty room, I think. Now,
Nolly, dear, are you ready ?"

"Am I to go with you?" asked Oliver.

"Yes, I have come from Bill," replied the girl.
" You are to go with me."

" What for ?" asked Oliver, recoiling.

"What for f" echoed the girl, raking her eyes, and
averting them again the moment they encountered
the boy's face. " Oh ! - For no harm."

" I don't believe it," said Oliver, who had watched
her closely.

" Have it your own way," rejoined the girl, affect
ing to laugh. " For no good, then."

Oliver could see that he had some power over the
girl's better feelings, and, for an instant, thought of
appealing to her compassion for his helpless state.
But then the thought darted across his mind that it
was barely eleven o'clock, and that many people
were still in the streets, of whom surely some might
be found to give credence to his tale. As the reflec
tion occurred to him, he stepped forward, and said,
somewhat hastily, that lie was ready.

Neither his brief consideration nor its purport was
lost on his companion. She eyed him narrowly
while he spoke, and cast upon him a look of intelli
gence which sufficiently showed that she guessed
what had been passing in his thoughts.

"Hush!" said the girl, stooping over him, and

MB. SIKES READS OLIVER A LECTURE.

pointing to the door as she looked cautiously round.
" You can't help yourself. I have tried hard for
you, but all to 110 purpose. You are hedged round
and round. If ever you are to get loose from here,
this is not the time."

Struck by the energy of her manner, Oliver looked
up in her face with great surprise. She seemed to
speak the truth ; her countenance was white and ag
itated, and she trembled with very earnestness.

" I have saved you from being ill-used once, and I
will again, and I do now," continued the girl, aloud;
" for those who would have fetched you, if I had not,
would have been far more rough than me. I have
promised for your being quiet and silent ; if you are
not, you will only do harm to yourself and me too,
and perhaps be my death. See here ! I have borne all
this for you already, as true as God sees me show it."

She pointed hastily to some livid bruises on her
neck and arms, and continued, with great rapidity :

" Remember this ! And don't let me suffer more
for you. just now. If I could help you, I would ; but
I have not the power. They don't mean to harm
you ; whatever they make you do is no fault of
yours. Hush ! Every word from you is a blow for
me. Give me your hand. Make haste! Your
hand!"

She caught the hand which Oliver instinctively
placed in hers, and, blowing out the light, drew him
after her up the stairs. The door was opened quick
ly by some one shrouded in the darkness, and was as
quickly closed when they had passed out. A hack
ney-cabriolet was in waiting; with the same vehe
mence which she had exhibited in addressing Oli
ver, the girl pulled him in with her, and drew the cur
tains close. The driver wanted no directions, but
lashed his horse into full speed without the delay of
an instant.

The girl still held Oliver fast by the hand, and
continued to pour into his ear the warnings and as
surances she had already imparted. All was so
quick and hurried, that he had scarcely time to rec
ollect where he was, or how he came there, when the
carriage stopped at the house to which the Jew's
steps had been directed on the previous evening.

For one brief moment, Oliver cast a hurried glance
along the empty street, and a cry for help hung upon
his lips. But the girl's voice was in his ear, beseech
ing him, in such tones of agony to remember her,
that he had not the heart to utter it. While he hes
itated the opportunity was gone ; he was already in
the house, and the door was shut.

" This way," said the girl, releasing her hold for
the first time. "Bill!"

" Halloo !" replied Sikes, appearing at the head of
the stairs, with a candle. " Oh ! That's the time of
day ! Come on !"

This was a very strong expression of approbation,
an uncommonly hearty welcome, from a person of
Mr. Sikes's temperament. Nancy, appearing much
gratified thereby, saluted him cordially.

"Bull's-eye's gone home with Tom," observed
Sikes, as he lighted them up. " He'd have been in
the w.'iy."

" That's right," rejoined Nancy.

" So you've got the kid," said Sikes, when they had
all reached the room, closing the door as he spoke.

" Yes, here he is," replied Nancy.

" Did he come quiet ?" inquired Sikes.

" Like a lamb," rejoined Nancy.

" I'm glad to hear it," said Sikes, looking grimly at
Oliver ; " for the sake of his young carcass : as would
otherways have suffered for it. Come here, young
'un ; and let me read you a lectur', which is as well
got over at once."

Thus addressing his new pupil, Mr. Sikes pulled
off Oliver's cap and threw it into a corner ; and then,
taking him by the shoulder, sat himself down by the
table, and stood the boy in front of him.

" Now, first : do you know wot this is ?" inquired
Sikes, taking up a pocket-pistol which lay on the
table.

Oliver replied in the affirmative.

"Well, then, look here," continued Sikes. "This
is powder; that 'ere's a bullet; and this is a little
bit of a old hat for waddin'."

Oliver murmured his comprehension of the differ
ent bodies referred to ; and Mr. Sikes proceeded to
load the pistol, with great nicety and deliberation.

" Now it's loaded," said Mr. Sikes, when he had
finished.

" Yes, I see it is, sir," replied Oh' ver.

"Well," said the robber, grasping Oliver's wrist,
and putting the barrel so close to his temple that
they touched ; at which moment the boy could not
repress a start ; " if you speak a word when you're
out o' doors with me, except when I speak to you,
that loading will be in your head without notice.
So, if you do make up your mind to speak without
leave, say your prayers first."

Having bestowed a scowl upon the object of this
warning, to increase its effect, Mr. Sikes continued.

"As near as I know, there isn't any body as would
be asking very partickler arter you, if you was dis
posed of; so I needn't take this devil-and-all of
trouble to explain matters to you, if it warn't for
your own good. D'ye hear me ?"

" The short and the long of what you mean," said
Nancy speaking very emphatically, and slightly
frowning at Oliver^ as if to bespeak his serious atten
tion to her words " is, that if you're crossed by him
in this job you have on hand, you'll prevent his ever
telling tales afterward by shooting him through the
head, and will take your chance of swinging for it,,
as you do for a great many other things in the way
of business, every month of your life."

" That's it !" observed Mr. Sikes, approvingly ;
"women can always put things in fewest words.
Except when it's blowing up, and then they length
ens it out. And now that he's thoroughly up to it,
let's have some supper, and get a snooze before start
ing."

In pursuance of this request, Nancy quickly laid
the cloth ; disappearing for a few minutes, she pres
ently returned with a pot of porter and a dish of
sheep's heads ; which gave occasion to several pleas
ant witticisms on the part of Mr. Sikes, founded upon
the singular coincidence of "jemmies " being a cant
name common to them, and also to an ingenious im
plement much used in his profession. Indeed, the
worthy gentleman, stimulated perhaps by the imme
diate prospect of being on active service, was in great
spirits an<r good-humor ; in proof whereof, it may be

(58

OLIVER TWIST.

here remarked, that he humorously drank all the
beer at a draught, and did not utter, on a rough
calculation, more than four-score oaths during the
whole progress of the meal.

Supper being ended it may easily be conceived
that Oliver had no great appetite for it Mr. Sikes
disposed of a couple of glasses of spirits-and-water,
and threw himself on' the bed ; ordering Nancy, with
many imprecations in case of failure, to call him
at five precisely. Oliver stretched himself in his
clothes, by command of the same authority, on a
mattress upon the floor ; and the girl, mending the
fire, sat before it, in readiness to arouse them at the
appointed time.

For a long time Oliver lay awake, thinking it not
impossible that Nancy might seek that opportunity
of whispering some further advice ; but the girl sat
brooding over the fire, without moving, save now
and then to trim the light. Weary with watching
and anxiety, he at length fell asleep.

When he awoke, the table was covered with tea-
things, and Sikes was thrusting various articles into
the pockets of his great-coat, which hung over the
back of a chair. Nancy was busily engaged in pre
paring breakfast. It was not yet daylight ; for the
candle was still burning, and it was quite dark out
side. A sharp rain, too, was beating against the win
dow-panes ; and the sky looked black and cloudy.

" Now, then !" growled Sikes, as Oliver started up ;
" half-past five ! Look sharp, or you'll get no break
fast ; for it's late as it is."

Oliver was not long in making his toilet ; having
taken some breakfast, he replied to a surly inquiry
from Sikes, by saying that he was quite ready.

Nancy scarcely looking at the boy, threw him a
handkerchief to tie round his throat ; Sikes gave
him a large rough cape to button over his shoulders.
Thus attired, he gave his hand to the robber, who,
merely pausing to show him with a menacing ges
ture that he had that same pistol in a side-pocket of
his great-coat, clasped it firmly in his, and, exchang
ing a farewell with Nancy, led him away.

Oliver turned, for an instant, ^fhen they reached
the door, in the hope of meeting a look from the girl.
But she had resumed her old seat in front of the fire,
and sat perfectly motionless before it.

CHAPTEE XXI.

THE EXPEDITION.

IT was a cheerless morning when they got into the
street ; blowing and raining hard, and the clouds
looking dull and stormy. The night had been very
wet: large pools of water had collected in the road,
and the kennels 'were overflowing. There was a
faint glimmering of the coming day in the sky ; but
it rather aggravated than relieved the gloom of the
scene : the sombre light only serving to pale that
which the street lamps afforded, without shedding
any warmer or brighter tints upon the wet house-tops
and dreary streets. There appeared to be nobody
stirring in that quarter of the town ; the windows
of the houses were all closely shut ; and ^hc streets
through v.'hich they passed were noiseless and empty.

By the time they had turned into the Bethnal
Green Road, the day had fairly begun to break.
Many of the lamps were already extinguished ; a
few country wagons were slowly toiling on toward
London ; now and then a stage-coach, covered with
mud, rattled briskly by : the driver bestowing, as he
passed, an admonitory lash upon the heavy wagoner
who, by keeping on the wrong side of the road, had
endangered his arriving at the office a quarter of a
minute after his time. The public-houses, with gas
lights burning inside, were already open. By de
grees, other shops began to be unclosed, and a few
scattered people were met with. Then came strag
gling groups of laborers going to their work : then,
men and women with fish-baskets on their heads;
donkey-carts laden with vegetables ; chaise-carts till
ed with live-stock or whole carcasses of meat ; inilk-
woiiien with pails ; an unbroken concourse of people,
trudging out with various supplies to the eastern
suburbs of the town. As they approached the City,
the noise and traffic gradually increased ; when they
threaded the streets between Shoreditch and Smith-
field, it had swelled into a roar of sound and bustle.
It was as light as it was likely to be till night came
on again, and the busy morning of half the London
population had begun.

Turning down Sun Street and Crown Street, and
crossing Finsbury Square, Mr. Sikes struck, by way
of Chiswell Street, into Barbican ; thence into Long
Lane, and so into Smithfield; from which latter
place arose a tumult of discordant sounds that filled
Oliver Twist with amazement.

It was market-morning. The ground was cover
ed, nearly ankle-deep, with filth and mire ; a thick
steam, perpetually rising from the reeking bodies of
the cattle, and mingling with the fog, which seemed
to rest upon the chimney-tops, hung heavily above.
All the pens in the centre of the large area, and as
many temporary pens as could be crowded into the
vacant space, were filled with sheep ; tied up to posts
by the gutter side were long lines of beasts and oxen,
three or four deep. Countrymen, butchers, drovers,
hawkers, boys, thieves, idlers, and vagabonds of every
low grade, were mingled together in a mass ; the
whistling of drovers, the barking of dogs, the bel
lowing and plunging of oxen, the bleating of sheep,
the grunting and squeaking of pigs, the cries of
hawkers, the shouts, oaths, and quarreling on all
sides ; the ringing of bells and roar of voices, that
issued from every public-house ; the crowding, push
ing, driving, beating, whooping, and yelling ; the hid
eous and discordant din that resounded from every
corner of the market ; and the unwashed, unshaven,
squalid, and dirty figures constantly running to and
fro, and bursting in and out of the throng, rendered
it a stunning and bewildering scene, which quite
confounded the senses.

Mr. Sikes, dragging Oliver after him, elbowed his
way through the thickest of the crowd, and bestow
ed very little attention on the numerous sights and
sounds which so astonished the boy. He nodded,
twice or thrice, to a passing friend ; and, resisting as
many invitations to take a morning dram, pressed
steadily onward, \\n\i\ they were clear of the, turmoil,
i and had made their way through Hosier Lane into
Holburn.

ON THE ROAD OUT OF TOJTX.

" Now, young un !" said Sikes, looking up at the
clock of St. Andrew's Church,. "hard upon seven!
you must step out. Come, don't lag behind already,
Lazy-legs !''

Mr. Sikes accompanied this speech with a jerk at
his little companion's wrist. Oliver, quickening his
pace into a kind of trot, between a fast walk and a
run, kept up with the rapid strides of the house
breaker as well as he could.

They held their course at this rate, until they had
passed Hyde Park corner, and were on their way to
Kensington ; when Sikes relaxed his pace, until an
empty cart, which was at some little distance behind,
came up. Seeing " Hounslow " written on it, he ask
ed the driver with as much civility as he could as
sume, if he would give them a lift as far as Isleworth.

" Jump up," said the man. " Is that your boy V'

" Yes ; he's my boy," replied Sikes, loohing hard at
Oliver, and putting his hand abstractedly into the
pocket where the pistol was.

" Your father walks rather too quick for you, don't
he, my man F inquired the driver ; seeing that Oliver
was out of breath.

" Not a bit of it," replied Sikes, interposing. " He's
used to it. Here, take hold of my hand, Ned. In with
you!"

Thus -addressing Oliver, he helped him into the
cart ; and the driver, pointing to a heap of sacks,
told him to lie down there and rest himself.

As they passed the different mile-stones, Oliver won
dered, more and more, where his companion meant
to take him. Kensington, Hammersmith, Chiswick,
Kew Bridge, Brentford, were all passed ; and yet they
went on as steadily as if they had only just begun
their journey. At length they came to a public-
house called the Coach and Horses ; a little way be
yond which, another road appeared to turn off. And
here the cart stopped.

Sikes dismounted with great precipitation, holding
Oliver by the hand all the while ; and, lifting him
down directly, bestowed a furious look upon him,
and rapped the side-pocket with his list in a signifi
cant manner.

" Good-bye, boy," said the man.

" He's sulky," replied Sikes, giving him a shake ;
" he's sulky. A young dog ! Don't mind him."

" Not I !" rejoined the other, getting into his cart.
" It's a fine day, after all." And he drove away.

Sikes waited until he had fairly gone ; and then
telling Oliver he might look about him if he wanted,
once again led him onward on his journey.

They turned rouud to the left, a short way past
the public - house ; and then, taking a right-hand
road, walked on for a long time ; passing many large
gardens and gentlemen's houses on both sides of the
way, and stopping for nothing but a little beer until
they reached a town. Here, against the wall of a
house, Oliver saw written up in pretty large letters,
" Hampton." They lingered about in the fields for
some hours. At length they came back into the
town ; and, turning into an old public-house with a
defaced sign-board, ordered some dinner by the kitch
en fire.

The. kitchen was an old, low -roofed room; with
;> great beam across the middle of the ceiling, and
benches, with high backs to them, by the fire ; on

which were seated several rough men in smock-frocks,
drinking and smoking. They took no notice of Oli
ver, and very little of Sikes ; and, as Sikes took -very
little notice of them, he and his young comrade sat
in a corner by themselves, without being much trou
bled by their company.

They had some cold meat for dinner, and sat so
long after it, while Mr. Sikes indulged himself Avith
three or four pipes, that Oliver began to feel quite
certain they were not going any farther. Being
much tired with the walk, and getting up so early,
he dozed a little at first ; then, quite overpowered by
fatigue and the fumes of the tobacco, fell asleep.

It was quite dark when he was awakened by a
push from Sikes. Rousing himself sufficiently to sit
up and look about him, he found that worthy in close
fellowship and communication with a laboring-man,
over a pint of ale.

" So you're going on to Lower Halliford, are you ?"
inquired Sikes.

" Yes, I am," replied the man, who seemed a little
the worse or better, as the case might be for drink
ing ; " and not slow about it, neither. My horse hasn't
got a load behind him going back, as he had coming
up in the mornin' ; and he won't be long a-doiug of
it. Here's luck to him I Ecod ! he's a good un !"

" Could you give my boy and me a lift as far as
there ?" demanded Sikes, pushing the ale toward his
new friend.

" If you're going directly, I can," replied the man,
looking out of the pot. "Are you going to Halli
ford?"

" Going on to Shepperton," replied Sikes.

" I'm your man, as far as I go," replied the other.
" Is all paid, Becky f '

" Yes, the other gentleman's paid," replied the girl.

" I say !" said the man, with tipsy gravity ; " that
won't do, you know."

" Why not ?" rejoined Sikes. " You're a-going to
accommodate us, and. wot's to prevent my standing
treat for a pint or so, in return ?"

The stranger reflected upon this argument with a
very profound face ; having done so, he seized Sikes
by the hand, and declared ho was a real good fellow.
To which Mr. Sikes replied, ho was joking ; as, if he
had been sober, there would have been strong reason
to suppose he was.

After the exchange of a few more compliments,
they bade the company good-night, and went out ;
the girl gathering up the pots and glasses as they
did so, and lounging out to the door, with her hands
full, to see the party start.

The horse, whose health had been drunk in his ab
sence, was standing outside, ready harnessed to the
cart. Oliver and Sikes got in without any further
ceremony ; and the man to whom he belonged, hav
ing lingered for a minute or tw r o "to bear him up,"
and to defy the hostler and the world, to produce his
equal, mounted also. Then the hostler was told to
give the horse his head; and, his head being given
him, he made a very unpleasant use of it tossing it
into the air with great disdain, and running into the
parlor windows over the way : after performing those
feats, and supporting himself for a short time on his
hind-legs, he started off at great speed, and rattled
out of the town right gallantly.

OLIVER TWIST.

The night Avas very dark. A damp mist rose from
the river and the marshy ground about, and spread
itself over the dreary fields. It was piercing cold,
too; all was gloomy and black. Not a word was
spoken ; for the driver had grown sleepy, and Sikes
was in no mood to lead him into conversation. Oli
ver sat huddled together in a corner of the cart, be
wildered with alarm and apprehension ; and figuring
strange objects in the gaunt trees, whose branches
waved grimly to and fro, as if in some fantastic joy
at the desolation of the scene.

As they passed Suubury Church, the clock struck
seven. There was a light in the ferry -house win
dow opposite, which streamed across the road, and
threw into more sombre shadow a dark yew-tree
with graves beneath it. There was a dull sound of

the bridge, then turned suddenly down a bank upon
the left.

" The water !" thought Oliver, turning sick with
fear. "He has brought me to this lonely place to
murder me !"

He was about to throw himself on the ground, and
make one struggle for his young life, when he saw
that they stood before a solitary house, all ruinous
and decayed. There was a window on each side of
the dilapidated entrance, and one story above, but
no light was visible. The house was dark, disman
tled ; and, to all appearance, uninhabited.

Sikes, with Oliver's hand still in his, softly ap
proached the low porch and raised the latch. The
door yielded to the pressure, and they passed in to
gether.

' 8IKE8, WITH OLIVER'S HAND STILL IN HIS, SOFTLY Al'l'JROAOUEl) T11E LOW POKOU."

falling water not far off; and the leaves of the old
tree stirred gently in the night wind. It seemed like
quiet music for the repose of the dead.

Sunbury was passed through, and they came again
into the lonely road. Two or three miles more, and
the cart stopped. Sikes alighted, took Oliver by the
hand, and they once again walked on.

They turned into no house at Shepperton, as the
weary boy had expected ; but still kept walking on,
in mud and darkness, through gloomy lanes and over
cold open wastes, until they came within sight of the
lights of a town at no great distance. On looking
intently forward, Oliver saw that the water was just
below them, and that they were coming to the foot
of a bridge.

Sikes kept straight on until they were close upon

CHAPTER XXII.

THE BURGLARY.

" TTALLOO !" cried a loud, hoarse voice, as soon as
Xl_ they set foot in the passage.

" Don't make such a row," said Sikes, bolting the
door. " Show a glim, Toby."

"Aha! rny pal!" cried the same voice. "A glim,
Barney, a glim ! Show the gentleman in, Barney ;
wake up, first, if convenient."

The speaker appeared to throw a boot -jack, or
some such article, at the person he addressed, to rouse
him from his slumbers ; for the noise of a wooden
body, falling violently, was heard ; and then an in
distinct muttering, as of a man between asleep and
awake.

ME. TOBY CRACKIT.

" Do you hear ?" cried the same voice. " There's
Bill Sikes iu the passage, with nobody to do the civil
to him ; and you sleeping there, as if you took lau
danum -with your meals, and nothing stronger. Are
you any fresher now, or do you want the iron candle
stick to wake you thoroughly ?"

A pair of slipshod feet shuffled, hastily, across the
bare floor of the room, as this interrogatory was put,
and there issued, from a door on the right hand, first,
a feeble candle ; and next, the form of the same in
dividual who has been heretofore described as labor
ing under the infirmity of speaking through his nose,
and officiating as waiter at the public-house on Saf
fron Hill.

" Bister Sikes !" exclaimed Barney, with real or
counterfeit joy ; " cub id, sir ; cub id."

" Here ! you get on first," said Sikes, putting Oli
ver in front of him. "Quicker! or I shall tread
upon your heels."

Muttering a curse upon his tardiness, Sikes push
ed Oliver before him ; and they entered a low dark
room, with a smoky fire, two or three broken chairs,
a table, and a very old couch, on which, with his
legs much higher than his head, a man was reposing
at full length, smoking a long clay pipe. He was
dressed in a smartly -cut snuff- colored coat, with
large brass buttons ; an orange neckerchief; a coarse,
staring, shawl-pattern waistcoat ; and drab breeches.
Mr. Crackit (for he it was) had no very great quan
tity of hair, either upon his head or face ; but what
he had was of a reddish dye, and tortured into long
corkscrew curls, through which he occasionally thrust
some very dirty fingers, ornamented with large com
mon rings. He was a trifle above the middle size,
and apparently rather weak in the legs ; but this
circumstance by no means detracted from his own
admiration of his top-boots, which he contemplated,
in their elevated situation, with lively satisfaction.

" Bill, my boy !" said this figure, turning his head
toward the door, " I'm glad to see you. I was al
most afraid you'd given it up ; in which case I
should have made a personal wentur. Halloo !"

Uttering this exclamation in a tone of great sur
prise, as his eye rested on Oliver, Mr. Toby Crackit
brought himself into a sitting posture, and demand
ed who that was.

" The boy. Only the boy !" replied Sikes, draw
ing a chair toward the fire.

" Wud of Bister Fagid's lads," exclaimed Barney,
with a grin.

" Fagin's, eh !" exclaimed Toby, looking at Oliver.
" Wot an inwalable boy that'll make for the old
ladies' pockets in chapels! His mug is a fortun' to
him."

" There there's enough of that," interposed Sikes,
impatiently ; and stooping over his recumbent friend,
he whispered a few words in his ear, at which Mr.
Crackit laughed immensely, and honored Oliver with
a long stare of astonishment.

"Now."' said Sikes, as he resumed his seat, "if
you'll give us something to eat and drink while
we're waiting, you'll put some heart in us ; or in me,
at all events. Sit down by the fire, younker, and
rest yourself; for you'll have to go out with us again
to-night, though not very far off"."

Oliver looked at Sikes, in mute and timid wonder ;

and drawing a stool to the fire, sat with his aching
head upon his hands, scarcely knowing where he
was, or what was passing around him.

" Here," said Toby, as the young Jew placed some
fragments of food and a bottle upon the table, " Suc
cess to the crack !" He rose to honor the toast, and,
carefully depositing his empty pipe in a corner, ad
vanced to the table, filled a glass with spirits, and
drank off" its contents. Mr. Sikes did the same.

"A drain for the boy," said Toby, half filling a
wine-gtiss. " Down with it, Innocence."

" Indeed," said Oliver, looking piteously up into
the man's face, " indeed, I

" Down with it !" echoed Toby. " Do you think I
don't know what's good for you I Tell him to drink
it, Bill."

" He had better !" said Sikes, clapping his hand
upon his pocket. " Burn my body, if he isn't more
trouble than a whole family of. Dodgers ! Drink it,
you perwerse imp ! drink it !"

Frightened by the menacing gestures of the two
men, Oliver hastily swallowed the contents of the
glass, and immediately fell into a violent fit of cough-
ing,'which delighted Toby Crackit and Barney, and
even drew a smile from the surly Mr. Sikes.

This done, and Sikes having satisfied his appetite
(Oliver could eat nothing but a small crust of bread
which they made him swallow), the two men laid
themselves down on chairs for a short nap. Oliver
retained his stool by the fire ; Barney, wrapped in a
blanket, stretched himself on the floor, close outside
the fender.

They slept, or appeared to sleep, for some time ;
nobody stirring but Barney, who rose once or twice
to throw coals upon the fire. Oliver fell into a heavy
doze, imagining himself straying along the gloomy
lanes, or wandering about the dark church-yard, or
retracing some one or other of the scenes of the past
day, when he was roused by Toby Crackit jumping
up and declaring it was half-past one.

In an instant the other two were on their legs,
and all were actively engaged in busy preparation.
Sikes and his companion enveloped their necks and
chins in large dark shawls, and drew on their great
coats ; Barney, opening a cupboard, brought forth
several articles, which he hastily crammed into the
pockets.

" Barkers foi>me, Barney," said Toby Crackit.

" Here they are," replied Barney, producing a pair
of pistols. " You loaded tiiem yourself."

"All right !" replied Toby, stowing them away.
" The persuaders ?"

" I've got 'em," replied Sikes.

" Crape, keys, centre-bits, darkies nothing forgot
ten ?" inquired Toby, fastening a small crowbar to a
loop inside the skirt of his coat.

"All right," rejoinedhis companion. " Bring them
bits of timber, Barney. That's the time of day !"

With these words, he took a thick stick from Bar
ney's hands, who, having delivered another to Toby,
busied himself in fastening on Oliver's cape.

" Now then !" said Sikes, holding out his hand.

Oliver, who was completely stupefied by the un
wonted exercise, and the air, and the drink which had
been forced upon him, put his hand mechanically into
that which Sikes extended for that purpose.

OLIVER TWIST.

" Take his other hand, Toby," said Sikes. " Look
out, Barney."

The man -went to the door, and returned to an
nounce that all was quiet. The two robbers issued
forth, with Oliver between them. Barney, having
made all fast, rolled himself up as before, and was
soon asleep again.

It was now intensely dark. The fog was much
heavier than it had been in the early part of the
night ; and the atmosphere was so damp, that, al
though no rain fell, Oliver's hair and ejjpbrows,
within a few minutes after leaving the house, had
become stiff with the half-frozen moisture that was
floating about. They crossed the bridge, and kept
on toward the lights which he had seen before.
They were at no great distance off; and, as they
walked pretty briskly, they soon arrived at Chert-
sey.

"Slap through the town," whispered Sikes;
" there'll be nobody in the way to-night to see us."

Toby acquiesced; and they hurried through the
main street of the little town, which at that late
hour was wholly deserted. A dim light shone at in
tervals from some bedroom window ; and the hoarse
barking of dogs occasionally broke the silence of the
night. But there was nobody abroad. They had
cleared the town, as the church-bell struck two.

Quickening their pace, they turned up a road
upon the left hand. After walking about a quarter
of a mile, they stopped before a detached house sur
rounded by a wall, to the top of which, Toby Crack-
it, scarcely pausing to take breath, climbed in a
twinkling.

" The boy next," said Toby. " Hoist him up ; I'll
catch hold of him."

Before Oliver had time to look round, Sikes had
caught him under the arms ; and in three or four
seconds he and Toby were lying on the grass on the
other side. Sikes followed directly. And they stole
cautiously toward the house.

And now, for the first time, Oliver, well-nigh mad
with grief and terror, saw that house-breaking and
robbery, if not murder, were the objects of the expe
dition. He clasped his hands together, and invol
untarily uttered a subdued exclamation of horror.
A mist came before his eyes ; the cold sweat stood
upon his ashy face ; his limbs failed him, and he
sank upon his knees.

" Get up !" murmured Sikes, trembling with rage,
and drawing the pistol from his pocket ; " get up,
or I'll strew your brains upon the grass !"

" Oh ! for God's sake let me go !" cried Oliver ;
" let me run away and die in the fields. I will nev
er come near London ; never, never ! Oh ! pray
have mercy on me, and do not make me steal ! For
the love of all the bright angels that rest in heav
en, have mercy upon me !"

The man to whom this appeal was made swore a
dreadful oath, and had cocked the pistol, when Toby,
striking it from his grasp, placed his hand upon the
boy's mouth and dragged him to the house.

" Hush !" cried the man ; " it won't answer here.
Say another word, and I'll do your business myself
with a crack on the head. That makes no noise,
a:ul is quite as certain, and more genteel. Here,
Bill, wrench the shutter open. He's game enough

now, I'll engage. I've seen older hands of his age
took the same way for a minute or two on a cold
night."

Sikes, invoking terrific imprecations upon Fagiu's
head for sending Oliver on such an errand, plied the
crowbar vigorously, but with little noise. After
some delay, and some assistance from Toby, the
shutter to which he had referred swung open on its
hinges.

It was a little lattice window, about five feet and
a half above the ground, at the back of the house,
which belonged to a scullery, or small brewing-
place, at the end of the passage. The aperture was
so small, that the inmates had probably not thought
it worth while to defend it more securely ; but it
was large enough to admit a boy of Oliver's size,
nevertheless. A very brief exercise of Mr. Sikes's
art sufficed to overcome the fastening of the lattice,
and it soon stood wide open also.

" Now listen, you young limb !" whispered Sikes,
drawing a dark-lantern from his pocket, and throw
ing the glare full on Oliver's face; "I'm a-going to
put you through 'there. Take this light; go softly
up the steps straight afore you, and along the little
hall, to the street-door ; unfasten it, and let us in."

" There's a bolt at the top you won't be able to
reach," interposed Toby. " Stand upon one of the
hall chairs. There are three there, Bill, with a jolly
large blue unicorn and gold pitchfork on 'em, which
is the old lady's arms."

"Keep quiet, can't you?" replied Sikes, with a
threatening look. " The room-door is open, is it ?"

" Wide," replied Toby, after peeping in to satisfy
himself. "The game of 'that is, that they always
leave it open with a catch, so that the dog, who's
got a bed in here, may walk up and down the pas
sage when he feels wakeful. Ha ! ha ! Barney 'ticed
him away to-night. So neat !"

Although Mr. Crackit spoke in a scarcely audible
whisper, and laughed without noise, Sikes imperious
ly commanded him to be silent, and to get to work.
Toby complied, by first producing his lantern, and
placing it on the ground ; then by planting himself
firmly with his head against the wall beneath the
window, and his hands upon his knees, so as to make
a step of his back. This was no sooner done, than
Sikes, mounting upon him, put Oliver gently through
the window with his feet first ; and, without leaving
hold of his collar, planted him safely on the floor in
side.

" Take this lantern," said Sikes, looking into the
room. " You see the stairs afore you ?"

Oliver, more dead than alive, gasped out, " Yes."
Sikes, pointing to the street-door with the pistol-
barrel, briefly advised him to take notice that he was
within shot all the way ; and that if he faltered, he
would fall dead that instant.

" It's done iu a minute," said Sikes, in the same
low whisper. " Directly I leave go of you, do your
work. Hark!"

" What's that ?" whispered the other man.

They listened intently.

"Nothing," said Sikes, releasing his hold of Oli
ver. "Now!"

In the short time he had had to collect his senses.
the boy had firmly resolved that, whether he died iu

MSS. CORNET.

the attempt or not, he would make one effort to dart
up staii-s from the hall and alarm the family. Filled
with this idea, he advanced at once, but stealthily.

." Come back !" suddenly cried Sikes, aloud " back !
back !"

Scared by the sudden breaking of the dead still
ness of the place, and by a loud cry which followed
it, Oliver let his lantern fall, and knew not whether
to advance or fly.

The cry was repeated a light appeared a vision
of two terrified, half-dressed men at the top of the
stairs swam before his eyes a flash a loud noise
a smoke- a crash somewhere, but where he knew
not and he staggered back.

CHAPTER XXIII.

WHICH CONTAINS THE SUBSTANCE OF A PLEASANT CON
VERSATION BETWEEN MR. BUMBLE AND A LADY; AND
SHOWS THAT EVEN A BEADLE MAT BE SUSCEPTIBLE ON
SOME POINTS.

THE night was bitter cold. The snow lay on the
ground, frozen into a hard thick crust, so that
only the heaps that had drifted into by-ways and
corners were affected by the sharp wind that howled
abroad; which, as if expending increased fury on
such prey as it found, caught it savagely up in clouds,
and, whirling it into a thousand misty eddies, scat
tered it in air. Bleak, dark, and piercing cold, it was

" DIKECTLY I J.EA.VE GO OF YOU, DO YOUE WORK. HABK !"

Sikes had disappeared for an instant ; but he was
up again, and had him by the collar before the smoke
had cleared away. He fired his own pistol after the
men, who were already retreating, and dragged the
boy up.

" Clasp your arm tighter," said Sikes, as he drew
him through the window. " Give me a shawl here.
They've hit him. Quick ! How the boy bleeds !"

Then came the loud ringing of a bell, mingled with
the noise of fire-arms, and the shouts of men, and the
sensation of being carried over uneven ground at a
rapid pace. And then the noises grew confused in
the distance ; and a cold deadly feeling crept over
the boy's heart ; and he saw or heard no more.

a night for the well-housed and fed to draw round
the bright fire and thank God they were at home :
and for the homeless, starving wretch to lay him
down and die. Many hunger -worn outcasts close
their eyes in our bare streets at such times, who, let
their crimes have been what they may, can hardly
open them in a more bitter world.

Such were the aspect of out-of-door affairs, when
Mrs. Corney, the matron of the. work-house to which
our readers have been already introduced as the
birthplace of Oliver Twist, sat herself down before
a cheerful fire in her own little room, and glanced,
with no small degree of complacency, at a small
round table, on which stood a tray of corresponding

OLIVER TWIST.

size, furnished with all necessary materials for the
most grateful meal that matrons enjoy. In fact,
Mrs. Corney was about to solace herself with a cup
of tea. As she glanced from the table to the fire
place, where the smallest of all possible kettles was
singing a small song in a small voice, her inward sat
isfaction evidently increased so much so, indeed,
that Mrs. Corney smiled.

" Well !" said the matron, leaning her elbow on the
table, and looking reflectively at the fire ; " I'm sure
we have all on us a great deal to be grateful for ! A
great deal, if we did but know it. Ah !"

Mrs. Corney shook her head mournfully, as if de
ploring the mental blindness of those paupers who
did not know it ; and thrusting a silver spoon (pri
vate property) into the inmost recesses of a two-
ounce tin tea-caddy, proceeded to make the tea.

How slight a thing will disturb the equanimity of
our frail minds ! The black tea-pot, being very
small and easily filled, ran over while Mrs. Corney
was moralizing, and the water slightly scalded Mrs.
Corney's hand.

" Drat the pot !" said the worthy matron, setting
it down very hastily on the hob : " a little stupid
thing, that only holds a couple of cups ! What use
is it of to any body ! Except," said Mrs. Corney,
pausing, " except to a poor desolate creature like rne.
Oh dear!"

With these words, the matron dropped into her
chair, and, once more resting her elbow on the table,
thought of her solitary fate. The small tea-pot, and
the single cup, had awakened in her mind sad recol
lections of Mr. Corney (who had not been dead more
than five-aud-twenty years) ; and she was overpow
ered.

" I ehall never get another !" said Mrs. Corney, pet
tishly ; " I shall never get another like him !"

Whether this remark bore reference to the hus
band, or the tea-pot, is uncertain. It might have
been the latter ; for Mrs. Corney looked at it as she
spoke; and took it up afterward. She had just
tasted her first cup, when she was disturbed by a
soft tap at the room-door.

" Oh, come in with you !" said Mrs. Corney, sharply.
" Some of the old women dying, I suppose. They al
ways die when I'm at meals. Don't stand there let
ting the cold air in, don't. What's amiss now, eh f "
' " Nothing, ma'am, nothing," replied a man's voice.

"Dear me!" exclaimed the matron, in a much
sweeter tone, " is that Mr. Bumble ?"

" At your service, ma'am," said Mr. Bumble, who
had been stopping outside to rub his shoes clean,
and to shake the snow off his coat ; and who now
made his appearance, bearing the cocked hat in one
hand and a bundle in the other. " Shall I shut the
door, ma'am ?"

The lady modestly hesitated to reply, lest there
should be any impropriety in holding an interview
with Mr. Bumble with closed doors. Mr. Bumble
taking advantage of the hesitation, and being very
cold himself, shut it without permission.

" Hard weather, Mr. Bumble," said the matron.

" Hard, indeed, ma'am," replied the beadle. " Anti-
porochial weather this, ma'am. We have given away,
Mrs. Corney, we have given away a matter of twenty
quartern loaves and a cheese and a half, this very

blessed afternoon; and yet them paupers are not
contented."

" Of course not. When would they be, Mr. Bum
ble ?" said the matron, sipping her tea.

" When, indeed, ma'am !" rejoined Mr. Bumble.
" Why here's one man that, in consideration of his
wife and large family, has a quartern loaf and a
good pound of cheese, full weight. Is he grateful,
ma'am? Is he grateful? Not a copper farthing's
worth of it ! What does he do, ma'am, but ask for
a few coals; if it's only a pocket-handkerchief full,
he says! Coals! What would he do with coals?
Toast his cheese with 'em, and then come back for
more. That's the way with these people, ma'am ;
give 'em a apron -ful of coals to-day, and they'll
come back for another the day after to-morrow, as
brazen as alabaster !"

The matron expressed her entire concurrence in
this intelligible simile ; and the beadle went on.

" I never," said Mr. Bumble, " see any thing like
the pitch it's got to. The day afore yesterday, a
man you have been a married woman, ma'am, and
I may mention it to you a man, with hardly a rag
upon his back (here Mrs. Corney looked at the floor),
goes to our overseer's door when he has got company
coming to dinner ; and says, he must be relieved, Mrs.
Coruey. As he wouldn't go away, and shocked the
company very much, our overseer sent him out a
pound of potatoes and half a pint of oatmeal. ' My
heart !' says the ungrateful villain, ' what's the use
of this to me ? You might as well give me a pair of
iron spectacles !' ' Very good,' says our overseer, tak
ing 'em away again, ' you won't get any thing else
here.' 'Then I'll die in the streets!' says the va
grant. ' Oh no, you won't/ says our overseer."

"Ha! ha! That was very good! So like Mr.
Granuett, wasn't it ?" interposed the matron. " Well,
Mr. Bumble ?"

"Well, ma'am," rejoined the beadle, "he went
away ; and he did die in the streets. There's a ob
stinate pauper for you !"

" It beats any thing I could have believed," ob
served the matron, emphatically. " But don't you
think out-of-door relief a very bad thing, any way,
Mr. Bumble ? You're a gentleman of experience, and
ought to know. Come."

" Mrs. Corney," said the beadle, smiling as men
smile who are conscious of superior information,
"out-of-door relief, properly managed properly
managed, ma'arn is the porochial safeguard. The
great principle of out-of-door relief is, to give the
paupers exactly what they don't want; and then
they get tired of coming."

" Dear me !" exclaimed Mrs. Corney. " Well, that
is a good one, too !"

" Yes. Betwixt you and me, ma'am," returned Mr.
Bumble, " that's the great principle ; and that's the
reason why, if you look at any cases that get into
them owdacious newspapers, you'll always observe
that sick families have been relieved with slices of
cheese. That's the rule now, Mrs. Corney, all over
the country. But, however," said the beadle, stop
ping to unpack his bundle, " these are official secrets,
ma'am ; not to be spoken of; except, as I may say,
among the porochial officers, such as ourselves. This
is the port-wine, ma'am, that the board ordered for

MRS. CORNET AND MR. BUMBLE.

the infirmary ; real, fresh, genuine port-wine ; only
out of the cask this forenoon ; clear as a bell, and
no sediment !"

Having held the first bottle up to the light, and
shaken it well to test its excellence, Mr. Bumble
placed them both on the top of a chest of drawers ;
folded the handkerchief in which they had been
wrapped; put it carefully in his pocket; and took
up his hat, as if to go.

" You'll have a very cold walk, Mr. Bumble," said
the matron.

" It blows, ma'am," replied Mr. Bumble, turning up
his coat-collar, " enough to cut one's ears off."

The matron looked from the little kettle to the
beadle, who was moving toward the door ; and as
the beadle coughed, preparatory to bidding her
good-night, bashfully inquired whether w r hether he
wouldn't take a cup of tea ?

Mr. Bumble instantaneously turned back his collar
again ; laid his hat and stick upon a chair ; and drew
another chair up to the table. As he slowly seated
himself, he looked at the lady. She fixed her eyes
upon the little tea-pot. Mr. Bumble coughed again,
and slightly smiled.

Mrs. Corney rose to get another cup and saucer
from the closet. As she sat down, her eyes once
again encountered those of the gallant beadle : she
colored, and applied herself to the task of making
his tea. Again Mr. Bumble coughed louder this
time than he had coughed yet.

" Sweet, Mr. Bumble ?" inquired the matron, tak
ing up the sugar-basin.

" Very sweet indeed, ma'am," replied Mr. Bumble.
He fixed his eyes on Mrs. Corney as he said this ; and
if ever a beadle looked tender, Mr. Bumble was that
beadle at that moment.

The tea was made and handed in silence. Mr.
Bumble, having spread a handkerchief over his knees
to prevent the crumbs from sullying the splendor of
his shorts, began to eat and drink ; varying these
amusements, occasionally, by fetching a deep sigh ;
which, however, had no injurious effect upon his ap
petite, but, on the contrary, rather seemed to facili
tate his operations in the tea-and-toast department.

" You have a cat, ma'am, I see," said Mr. Bumble,
glancing at one who, in the centre of her family, was
basking before the fire ; " and kittens too, I declare !"

" I am so fond of them, Mr. Bumble, you can't
think," replied the matron. " They're so happy, so
frolicsome, and so cheerful, that they are quite com
panions for me."

" Very nice animals, ma'am," replied Mr. Bumble,
approvingly ; " so very domestic."

" Oh, yes !" rejoined the matron with enthusiasm ;
" so fond of their home too, that it's quite a pleasure,
I'm sure."

" Mrs. Corney, ma'am," said Mr. Bumble, slowly, and
marking the time with his tea-spoon, " I mean to say
this, ma'am ; that any cat, or kitten, that could live
with you, ma'am, and not be fond of its home, must
be a ass, ma'am."

" Oh, Mr. Bumble !" remonstrated Mrs. Corney.

"It's of no use disguising facts, ma'am, "said Mr.
Bumble, slowly flourishing the tea-spoon with a kind
of amorous dignity which made him doubly impress
ive ; " I would drown it myself with pleasure."

" Then you're a cruel man," said the matron viva
ciously, as she held out her hand for the beadle's
cup ; " and a very hard-hearted man besides."

" Hard-hearted, ma'am ?" said Mr. Bumble. " Hard ?"
Mr. Bumble resigned his cup without another word ;
squeezed Mrs. Corney's little finger as she took it ;
and inflicting two open-handed slaps upon his laced
waistcoat, gave a mighty sigh, and hitched his chair
a very little morsel farther from the tire.

It was a round table ; and as Mrs. Corney and Mr.
Bumble had been sitting opposite each other, with
no great space between them, and fronting the fire,
it will be seen that Mr. Bumble, in receding from
the fire, and still keeping at the table, increased the
distance between himself and Mrs. Corney ; which
proceeding some prudent readers will doubtless be
disposed to admire, and to consider an act of great
heroism- on Mr. Bumble's part : he being in some sort
tempted by time, place, and opportunity, to give ut
terance to certain soft nothings, which, however well
they may become the lips of the light and thought
less, do seem immeasurably beneath the dignity of
the judges of the land, members of Parliament, min
isters of state, lord mayors, and other great public
functionaries, but more particularly beneath the
stateliness and gravity of a beadle, who (as is well
known) should be the sternest and most inflexible
among them all.

Whatever were Mr. Bumble's intentions, however
(and no doitbt they were of the best), it iinfortu-
nately happened, as has been twice before remarked,
that the table was a round one; consequently Mr.
Bumble, moving his chair by little and little, soon
began to diminish the distance between himself and
the matron ; and, continuing to travel round the out
er edge of the circle, brought his chair, in time, close
to that in which the matron was seated. Indeed, the
two chairs touched ; and when they did so, Mr. Bum
ble stopped.

Now, if the matron had moved her chair to the
right, she would have been scorched by the fire ;
and if to the left, she must have fallen into Mr.
Bumble's arms ; so (being a discreet matron, and no
doubt foreseeing these consequences at a glance) she
remained where she was, and handed Mr. Bumble an
other cup of tea.

"Hard-hearted, Mrs. Corney?" said Mr. Bumble,
stirring his tea, and looking up into the matron's
face ; " are you hard-hearted, Mrs. Corney ?"

" Dear me !" exclaimed the matron, " what a very
curious question from a single man ! What can you
want to know for, Mr. Bumble ?"

The beadle drank his tea to the last drop ; finished
a piece of toast ; whisked the crumbs off his knees ;
wiped his lips ; and deliberately kissed the matron.

" Mr. Bumble !" cried that discreet lady in a whis
per ; for the fright was so great, that she had quite
lost her voice ; " Mr. Bumble, I shall scream !" Mr.
Bumble made no reply ; but in a slow and dignified
manner put his arms round the matron's waist.

As the lady had stated her intention of screaming,
of course she would have screamed at this additional
boldness, but that the exertion was rendered unnec
essary by a hasty knocking at the door : which was
no sooner heard, than Mr. Bumble darted, with much
agility, to the wine bottles, aoid began dusting theoi

OLIVER TWIST.

with great violence, while the matron sharply de
manded who was there. It is worthy of remark, as
a curious physical instance of the efficacy of a sud
den surprise in counteracting the effects of extreme
fear, that her voice had quite recovered all its official
asperity.

" If you please, mistress," said a withered old fe
male pauper, hideously ugly, putting her head in at
the door, " Old Sally is a-going fast."

" Well, what's that to me ?" angrily demanded the
matron. " I can't keep her alive, can I ?"

" No, no, mistress," replied the old woman, " no
body can ; she's far beyond the reach of help. I've
seen a many people die little babes and great
strong men and I know when death's a - coming
well enough. But she's troubled in her mind ; and
when the tits are not on her and that's not often,
for she is dying very hard she says she has got
something to tell which you must hear. She'll never
die quiet till you come, mistress."

At this intelligence, the worthy Mrs. Corney mut
tered a variety of invectives against old women who
couldn't even die without purposely annoying their
betters ; and muffling herself in a thick shawl which
she hastily caught up, briefly requested Mr, Bumble
to stay till she came back, lest any thing particular
should occur. Bidding the messenger walk fast, and
not be all night hobbling up the stairs, she followed
her from the room with a very ill grace, scolding all
the way.

Mr. Bumble's conduct on being left to himself was
rather inexplicable. He opened the closet, counted
the tea-spoons, weighed the sugar-tongs, closely in
spected a silver milk-pot to ascertain that it was of
the genuine metal, and, having satisfied his curiosity
on these points, put on his cocked hat corner-wise,
and danced with much gravity four distinct times
round the table. Having gone through this very
extraordinary performance, he took off the cocked
hat again, and, spreading himself before the fire with
his back toward it, seemed to be mentally engaged
in taking an exact inventory of the furniture.

CHAPTER XXIV

TREATS OF A VERT POOR SUBJECT. BUT IS A SHORT
ONE, AND MAT BE FOUND OF IMPORTANCE IN THIS
HISTORT.

IT was no unfit messenger of death who had dis
turbed the quiet of the matron's room. Her body
was bent by age ; her limbs trembled with palsy ;
her face, distorted into a mumbling leer, resembled
more the grotesque shaping of some wild pencil
than the work of Nature's hand.

Alas! how few of Nature's faces are left alone, to
gladden us with their beauty ! The cares, and sor
rows, and hungerings, of the world, change them as
they change hearts ; and it is only when those pas
sions sleep, and have lost their hold forever, that the
troubled clouds pass off, and leave Heaven's surface
clear. It is a common thing for the countenances
of the dead, even in that fixed and rigid state, to
subside into the long-forgotten expression of sleep
ing infancy, and settle into the very look of early

life. So calm, so peaceful, do they grow again, that
those Avho knew them in their happy childhood,
kneel by the coffin's side in awe, and see the Angel
even upon earth.

The old crone tottered along the passages, and up
the stairs, nmttering some indistinct answers to the
eludings of her companion. Being at length com
pelled to pause for breath, she gave the light into
her hand, and remained behind to follow as she
might; while the more nimble superior made her
way to the room where the sick woman lay.

It was a bare garret-room, with a dim light burn
ing at the farther end. There was another old wom
an watching by the bed ; the parish apothecary's ap
prentice was standing by the fire, making a tooth
pick out of a quill.

" Cold night, Mrs. Corney," said this young gentle
man, as the matron entered.

"Very cold, indeed, sir," replied the mistress, in
her most civil tones, and dropping a courtesy as she
spoke.

" You should get better coals out of your contract
ors," said the apothecary's deputy, breaking a lump
on the top of the fire with the rusty poker; "these
are not at all the sort of thing for a cold night."

" They're the board's choosing, sir," returned the
matron. " The least they could do would be to keep
us pretty warm ; for our places are hard enough."

The conversation was here interrupted by a moan
from the sick woman.

" Oh !" said the young man, turning his face to
ward the bed, as if he had previously quite forgotten
the patient, " it's all U P there, Mrs. Corney."

" It is, is it, sir ?" asked the matron.

"If she lasts a couple of hours, I shall be sur
prised," said the apothecary's apprentice, intent
upon the tooth-pick's point. " It's a break-up of the
system altogether. Is she dozing, old lady ?"

The attendant stooped over the bed, to ascertain,
and nodded in the affirmative.

" Then perhaps she'll go off in that way, if you
don't make a row," said the young man. " Put the
light on the floor. She won't see it there."

The attendant did as she was told, shaking her
head meanwhile, to intimate that the woman would
not die so easily ; having done so, she resumed her
seat by the side of the other nurse, who had by this
time returned. The mistress, with an expression of
impatience, wrapped herself in her shawl, and sat at
the foot of the bed.

The apothecary's apprentice, having completed
the manufacture of the tooth-pick, planted himself
in front of the fire, and made good use of it for ten
minutes or so : when apparently growing rather dull,
he wished Mrs. Corney joy of her job, and took him
self off on tiptoe.

When they had sat in silence for some time, the
two old women rose from the bed, and, crouching
over the fire, held out their withered hands to catch
the heat. The flame threw a ghastly light on their
shriveled faces, and made their ugliness appear ter
rible, as, in this position, they began to converse in
a low voice.

" Did she say any more, Anny dear, while I was
gone f ' inquired the messenger.

" Not a word," replied the other. " She plucked

A DEATH-BED CONFESSION.

and tore at her arms for a little time ; but I held her
hands, and she soon dropped off. She hasn't much
strength in her, so I easily kept her quiet. I ain't
so weak for an old woman, although I am on parish
allowance ; no, no !"

" Did she drink the hot wine the doctor said she
was to have ?" demanded the first.

" I tried to get it down," rejoined the other. " But
her teeth were tight set, and she clenched the mug
so hard that it was as much as I could do to get it-
back again. So / drank it ; and it did me good."

Looking cautiously round, to ascertain that they
were not overheard, the two hags cowered nearer to
the fire, and chuckled heartily.

" I mind the time," said the first speaker, " when
she would have done the same, and made rare fun of
it afterward."

"Ay, that she would," rejoined the other; "she
had a merry heart. A many, many beautiful corpses
she laid out, as nice and neat as wax-work. My old
eyes have seen them ay, and those old hands touch
ed them too ; for I have helped her scores of times."

Stretching forth her trembling fingers as she spoke,
the old creature shook them exultingly before her
face, and fumbling in her pocket, brought out an old
time-discolored tin snuff-box, from which she shook
a few grains into the outstretched palm of her com
panion, and a few more into her own. While they
were thus employed, the matron, who had been im
patiently watching until the dying woman should
awaken from her stupor, joined them by the fire, and
sharply asked how long she was to wait ?"

" Not long, mistress," replied the second woman,
looking up into her face. "We have none of us long
to wait for Death. Patience, patience ! He'll be here
soon enough for us all."

" Hold your tongue, you doting idiot !' said the
matron, sternly. " You, Martha, tell me ; has she
been in this way before ?"

" Often," answered the first woman.

". But will never be again," added the second one ;
" that is, she'll never wake again but once and
mind, mistress, that won't be for long !"

" Long or short," said the matron, snappishly, " she
won't find me here when she does wake ; take care,
both of you, how you worry me again for nothing.
It's no part of my duty to see all the old women in
the house die, and I won't that's more. Mind that,
you impudent old harridans ! If yovi make a fool of
me again, I'll soon cure you, I warrant you !"

She was bouncing away, when a cry from the two
women, who had turned toward the bed, caused her
to look round. The patient had raised herself up
right, and was stretching her arms toward them.

" Who's that ?" she cried, in a hollow voice.

" Hush, hush !" said one of the women, stooping
over her. " Lie down, lie down !"

" I'll never lie down again alive !" said the woman,
struggling. " I will tell her ! Come here! Nearer!
Let me whisper in your ear."

She clutched the matron by the arm, and forcing her
into a chair by the bedside, was aboxit to speak, when,
looking round, she caught sight of the two old women
bending forward in the attitude of eager listeners.

" Turn them away," said the woman, drowsily ;
" make haste ! make haste !"

The two old crones, chiming in together, began
pouring out many piteous lamentations that the poor
dear was too far gone to know her best friends ; and
were uttering sundry protestations that they would
never leave her, when the superior pushed them from
the room, closed the door, and returned to the bed
side. On being excluded, the old ladies changed
their tone, and cried through the key-hole that old
Sally was drunk ; whicli, indeed, was not unlikely ;
since, in addition to a moderate dose of opium pre
scribed by the apothecary, she was laboring under
the effects of a final taste of giu-and-water which
had been privily administered, in the openness of
their hearts, by the worthy old ladies themselves.

" Now listen to me," said the dying woman aloud,
as if making a great effort to revive one latent spark
of energy. " In this very room in this very bed
I once nursed a pretty young creetur that was
brought into the house with her feet cut and bruised
with walking, and all soiled with dust and blood.
She gave birth to a boy, and died. Let me think
what was the year again ?"

" Never mind the year," said the impatient audi
tor ; " what about her ?"

"Ay," murmured the sick woman, relapsing into
her former drowsy state, " what about her ?- what
about I know !" she cried, jumping fiercely up ; her
face flushed, and her eyes starting from her head
" I robbed her, so I did ! She wasn't cold I tell
you she wasn't cold, when I stole it !"

" Stole what, for God's sake ?" cried the matron,
with a gesture as if she would call for help.

"It!" replied the woman, laying her hand over
the other's mouth. " The only thing she had. She
wanted clothes to keep her warm, and food to eat ;
but she had kept it safe, and had it in her bosom.
It was gold, I tell you ! Rich gold, that might have
saved her life !"

"Gold!" echoed the matron, bending eagerly over
the woman as she fell back. " Go on, go on yes
what of it ? Who was the mother ? When was it ?"

" She charged me to keep it safe," replied the wom
an with a groan, " and trusted me as the only woman
about her. I stole it in my heart when she first
showed it me hanging round her neck ; and the
child's death, perhaps, is on me besides ! They would
have treated him better if they had known it all !"

" Known what ?" asked the other. " Speak !"

" The boy grew so like his mother," said the wom
an, rambling on, and not heeding the question,
" that I could never forget it when I saw his face.
Poor girl ! poor girl ! She was so young, too ! Such
a gentle lamb ! Wait ; there's more to tell. I have
not told you all, have I ?"

" No, no," replied the matron, inclining her head to
catch the words, as they came more faintly from the
dying woman. " Be quick, or it may be too late !"

" The mother," said the woman, making a more
violent effort than before; "the mother, when the
pains of death first came upon her, whispered in my
ear that if her baby was bom alive, and thrived, the
day might come when it would not feel so much dis
graced to hear its poor young mother named. 'And
oh, kind Heaven!' she said, folding her thin hands
together, ' whether it be boy or girl, raise up some
friends for it in this troubled world, and take pity

OLIVER TWIST.

upon a lonely, desolate child, abandoned to its mer
cy!"'

" The boy's name I" demanded the matron.

" They called him Oliver," replied the woman, fee
bly. " The gold I stole was "

" Yes, yes what ?" cried the other.

She was bending eagerly over the woman to hear
her reply ; but drew back, instinctively, as she once
again rose, slowly and stiffly, ^uto a sitting posture ;
then, clutching the coverlid with both hands, mut
tered some indistinct sounds in her throat, and fell

lifeless on the bed.

******

" Stone dead !" said one of the old women, hurry
ing in as soon as the door was opened.

"And nothing to tell, after all," rejoined the mat
ron, walking carelessly away.

The two crones, to all appearance too busily oc
cupied in the preparations for their dreadful duties
to make any reply, were left alone, hovering about
the body.

CHAPTER XV.

WHEREIN THIS HISTORY REVERTS TO ME. PAGIN AND
COMPANY:

WHILE these things were passing in the country
work-house, Mr. Fagiu sat in the old den the
same from which Oliver had been removed by the
girl brooding over a dull, smoky fire. He held a
pair of bellows upon his knee, with which he had ap
parently been endeavoring to rouse it into more cheer
ful action ; but he had fallen into deep thought ; and
with his arms folded on them, and his chin resting
on his 'thumbs, fixed his eyes abstractedly on the
rusty bars.

At a table behind him sat the Artful Dodger, Mas
ter Charles Bates, and Mr. Chitliug, all intent upon
a game of whist ; the Artful taking dummy against
Master Bates and Mr. Chitling. The countenance of
the first-named gentleman, peculiarly intelligent at
all times, acquired great additional interest from his
close observance of the game, and his attentive pe
rusal of Mr. Chitling's hand ; upon which, from time
to time, as occasion served, he bestowed a variety of
earnest glances : wisely regulating his own play by
the result of his observations upon his neighbor's
cards. It being a cold night, the Dodger wore his
hat, as, indeed, was often his custom within doors.
He also sustained a clay pipe between his teeth,
which he only removed for a brief space when he
deemed it necessary to apply for refreshment to a
quart pot upon the table, which stood ready filled
with gin -and -water for the accommodation of the
company.

Master Bates was also attentive to the play ; but
being of a more excitable nature than his accom
plished friend, it was observable that he more fre
quently applied himself to the gin-and-water, and
moreover indulged in many jests and irrelevant re
marks, all highly unbecoming a scientific rubber.
Indeed, the Artful, presuming upon their close at
tachment, more than once took occasion to reason
gravely with his companion upon these improprie
ties : all of which remonstrances Master Bates re

ceived in extremely good part ; merely requesting
his friend to be " Mowed," or to insert his head in a
sack, or replying with some other neatly-turned wit
ticism of a similar kind, the happy application of
which excited considerable admiration in the mind
of Mr. Chitling. It was remarkable that the latter
gentleman and his partner invariably lost ; and that
the circumstance, so far from angering Master Bates,
appeared to afford him the highest amusement, inas
much as he laughed most uproariously at the end of
every deal, and protested that he had never seen such
a jolly game in all his born days.

" That's two doubles and the rub," said Mr. Chit-
ling, with a very long face, as he drew half a crown
from his waistcoat-pocket. " I never see such a fel
ler as you, Jack ; you win every thing. Even when
we've good cards, Charley and I can't make nothing
of 'em."

Either the matter or the manner of this remark,
which was made very ruefully, delighted Charley
Bates so much, that his consequent shout of laugh
ter roused the Jew from his reverie, and induced
him to inquire what was the matter.

" Matter, Fagiu !" cried Charley. " I wish you
had watched the play. Tommy Chitling hasn't won
a point ; and I went partners with him against the
Artful and dum "

"Ay, ay!" said the Jew, with a grin, which suffi
ciently demonstrated that he was at no loss to un
derstand the reason. " Try 'em again, Tom ; try 'em
again."

"No more of it for me, thankee, Fagin," replied
Mr. Chitling ; " I've had enough. That 'ere Dodger
has such a run of luck that there's no standing again'
him."

" Ha ! ha ! my dear," replied the Jew, " you must
get up very early in the morning to win against the
Dodger."

" Morning !" said Charley Bates ; " you must put
your boots on over-night, and have a telescope at
each eye, and a opera-glass between your shoulders,
if you want to come over Mm."

Mr. Dawkins received these handsome compliments
with much philosophy, and offered to cut any gentle
man in company, for the first picture-card, at a shil
ling a time. Nobody accepting the challenge, and
his pipe being by this time smoked out, he proceeded
to amuse himself by sketching a ground-plan of New
gate on the table with the piece of chalk which had
served him in lieu of counters ; whistling meantime,
with peculiar shrillness.

" How precious dull you are, Tommy !" said the
Dodger, stopping short when there had been a long
silence, and addressing Mr. Chitling. " What do you
think he's thinking of, Fagin ?"

"How should I know, my dear?" replied the Jew,
looking round as he plied the bellows. "About his
losses, maybe ; or the little retirement in the coun
try that he's just left, eh ? Ha ! ha ! Is that it, my
dear?"

"Not a bit of it," replied the Dodger, stopping the
subject of discourse as Mr. Chitling was about to re
ply. " What do you say, Charley ?"

"/should say," replied Master Bates, with a grin,
"that he was uncommon sweet upon Betsy. See
how he's a-blushiug ! Oh, my eye ! here's a merry-

THE DODGER AND FAGIN.

go-rounder ! Tommy Chitliug's hi love ! Oh, Fagin,
Fagin ! what a spree !"

Thoroughly overpowered with the notion of Mr.
Chilling being the victim of the tender passion, Mas
ter Bates threw himself back in his chair with such
violence that he lost his balance and pitched over
npon the floor; where (the accident abating nothing
of his merriment) he lay at full length until his
laugh was over, when he resumed his former posi
tion, and began another laugh.

" Never mind him, my dear," said the Jew, wink
ing at Mr. Dawkins, and giving Master Bates a re
proving tap with the nozzle of the bellows. " Bet
sy's a fine girl. Stick up to her, Tom. Stick up to
lier."

" What I mean to say, Fagin," replied Mr. Chitling,
very red in the face, " is, that that isn't any thing to
any body here."

" No more it is," replied the Jew ; " Charley will
talk. Don't mind him, my dear; don't mind him.
Betsy's a fine girl. Do as she bids you, Tom, and
you'll make your fortune.''

" So I do do as she bids me," replied Mr. Chitling ;
" I shouldn't have been milled, if it hadn't been for
her advice. But it turned out a good job for you ;
didn't it, Fagiu? And what's six weeks of it? It
must come, some time or another, and why not in
the winter-time, when you don't want to go out
a-walking so much ; eh, Fagin ?"

"Ah, to be sure, my dear," replied the Jew.

" You wouldn't mind it again, Tom, would you,"
asked the Dodger, winking upon Charley and the
Jew, " if Bet was all right ?"

"I mean to say that I shouldn't," replied Tom,
angrily. "There now. Ah! Who'll say as much
as that, I should like to know ; eh, Fagin ?"

" Nobody, my dear," replied the Jew ; " not a soul,
Tom. I don't know one of 'em that would do it be
sides you ; not one of 'em, my dear."

" I might have got clear off, if I'd split upon her ;
mightn't I, Fagin ?" angrily pursued the poor half
witted dupe. "A word from me would have done
it ; wouldn't it, Fagiu ?"

" To be sure it would, my dear," replied the Jew.

" But I didn't blab it ; did I, Fagin ?" demanded
Tom, pouring question upon question with great
volubility.

" No, no, to be sure," replied the Jew, " you were
too stout-hearted for that. A deal too stout, my
dear !"

" Perhaps I was," rejoined Tom, looking round ;
"and if I was, what's to laugh at in that; eh, Fa
giu ?"

The Jew, perceiving that Mr. Chitling was con
siderably roused, hastened to assure him that no
body was laughing ; and to prove the gravity of the
company, appealed to Master Bates, the principal of
fender. But, unfortunately, Charley, in opening his j
mouth to reply that he was never more serious in !
his life, was unable to prevent the escape of such a '
violent roar, that the abused Mr. Chitling, without \
any preliminary ceremonies, rushed across the room '
and aimed a blow at the offender ; who, being skill
ful in evading pursuit, ducked to avoid it, and chose
liis time so well that it lighted on the chest of the
merry old gentleman, and caused him to stagger to

the wall, where he stood panting for breath, while
Mr. Chitling looked on in intense dismay.

" Hark !" cried the Dodger at this moment, I heard
the tinkler." Catching up the light, he crept softly
up stairs.

The bell was rung again, with some impatience,
while the party were in darkness.' After a short
pause, the Dodger reappeared, and whispered Fagin
mysteriously.

" What !" cried the Jew, alone ?'"

The Dodger nodded in the affirmative, and shad
ing the flame of the candle with his hand, gave
Charley Bates a private intimation, in dumb show,
that he had better not be funny just then. Having
performed this friendly office, he fixed his eyes on
the Jew's face, and awaited his directions.

The old man bit his yellow fingers, and meditated
for some seconds ; his face working with agitation
the while, as if he dreaded something, and feared to
know the worst. At length he raised his head.

" Where is he f he asked.

The Dodger pointed to the floor above, and made
a gesture, as if to leave the room.

" Yes," said the Jew, answering the mute inquiry ;
"bring him down. Hush! Quiet, Charley! Gen
tly, Tom ! Scarce, scarce !"

This brief direction to Charley Bates, and his re
cent antagonist, was softly and immediately obeyed.
There was no sound of their whereabout when the
Dodger descended the stairs, bearing the light in
his hand, and followed by a man in a coarse smock-
frock ; who, after casting a hurried glance round
the room, pulled off a large wrapper which had con
cealed the lower portion of his face, and disclosed,
all haggard, unwashed, and unshorn, the features of
flash Toby Crackit.

" How are you, Faguey ?" said this worthy, nod
ding to the Jew. " Pop that shawl away in my
castor, Dodger, so that I may know where to find it
when I cut; that's the time of day! You'll be a
fine young cracksman afore the old file now."

With these words he pulled up the smock-frock,
and, winding it round his middle,, drew a chair to
the fire, and placed his feet upon the hob.

" See there, Faguey," he said, pointing disconso
lately to his top-boots ; " not a drop of Day and Mar
tin since, you know when ; not a bubble of blacking,
by Jove! But don't look at me in that way, man.
All in good time. I can't talk about business till
I've eat and drank ; so produce the sustainance, and
let's have a quiet fill-out for the first time these
three days !"

The Jew motioned to the Dodger to place what eat
ables there were upon the table ; and, seating him
self opposite the house-breaker, waited his leisure.

To judge from appearances, Toby was by no means
in a hurry to open the conversation. At first, the
Jew contented himself with patiently watching his
countenance, as if to gain from its .expression some
clue to the intelligence he brought; but in vain.
He looked tired and worn, but there was the same
complacent repose upon his features that they al
ways wore ; and through dirt, and beard, and whis
ker, there still shone, unimpaired^ the self-satisfied
smirk of flash Toby Crackit. Then the Jew, in an
agony of impatience, watched every morsel he put

OLIVER TWIST.

into his mouth; pacing np and down the room,
meanwhile, in irrepressible excitement. It was all
of no nse. Toby continued to eat, with the utmost
outward indifference, until he could .eat no more ;
then, ordering the Dodger out, he closed the door,
mixed a glass of spirits-and-water, and composed
himself for talking.

" First and foremost, Faguey " said Toby.

"Yes, yes!" interposed the Jew, drawing up his
chair.

Mr. Crackit stopped to take a draught of spirits-
and-water, and to declare that the gin was excellent ;
then, placing his feet against the low mantel-piece,
so as to bring his boots to about the level of his eye,
he quietly resumed.

"First and foremost, Faguey," said the house
breaker, " how's Bill ?"

" What !" screamed the Jew, starting from his seat.

"Why, you don't mean to say " began Toby,
turning pale.

" Mean !" cried the Jew, stamping furiously on the
ground. "Where are they Sikes and the boy?
* Where are they ? Where have they been ? Where
are they hiding ? Why have they iiot been here ?"

" The crack failed," said Toby, faintly.

" I know it," replied the Jew, tearing a newspaper
from his pocket, and pointing to it. " What more f '

"They fired and hit the boy. We cut over the
fields at the back with him between us straight as
the crow flies through hedge and ditch. They
gave chase. Damme ! the whole country was awake,
and the dogs upon us."

"The boy?"

" Bill had him on his back, and scudded like the
wind. We stopped to take him between us; his
head Imng down, and he was cold. They were close
upon our heels; every man for himself, and each
from the gallows! We parted company, and left
the youngster lying in a ditch. Alive or dead, that's
all I know about him."

The Jew stopped to hear no more ; but uttering a
loud yell, and twining his hands in his hair, rushed
from the room and from the house.

CHAPTER XXVI.

IN WHICH A MYSTERIOUS CHARACTER APPEARS UPON THE
SCENE; AND MANY THINGS INSEPARABLE FROM THIS
HISTORY ARE DONE AND PERFORMED.

THE old man had gained the street corner before
he began to recover the effect of Toby Crackit's
intelligence. He had relaxed nothing of his unusual
speed ; but was still pressing onward, in the same
wild and disordered manner, when the sudden dash
ing past of a carriage, and a boisterous cry from the
foot-passengers, who saw his danger, drove him back
upon the pavement. Avoiding as much as possible
all the main streets, and skulking only through the
by-ways and alleys, he at length emerged on Snow
Hill. Here he walked even faster than before ; nor
did he linger until he had again turned into a court ;
when, as if conscious that he was now in his proper
element, he fell into his usual shuffling pace, and
seemed to breathe more freely.

Near to the spot on which Snow Hill and Holborn
Hill meet, there opens, upon the right hand as you
come out of the City, a narrow and dismal alley lead
ing to Saffron Hill. In its filthy shops are exposed
for sale huge bunches of second-hand silk handker
chiefs, of all sizes and patterns ; for here reside the
traders who purchase them from pickpockets. Hun
dreds of these handkerchiefs hang dangling from
pegs outside the windows or flaunting from the door
posts; and the shelves within are piled with them.
Confined as the limits of Field Lane are, it has its
barber, its coffee-shop, its beer-shop, and its fried-fish
warehouse. It is a commercial colony of itself: the
emporium of petty larceny : visited at early morn
ing, and setting-ill of dusk, by silent merchants, who
traffic in dark back-parlors, and who go as strangely
as they come. Here the clothesman, the shoe-varnp-
er, and the rag-merchant, display their goods as sign
boards to the petty thief; here stores of old iron and
bones, and heaps of mildewy fragments of woolen-
stuff and linen, rust and rot in the grimy cellars.

It was into this place that the Jew turned. He
was well known to the sallow denizens of the lane ;
for such of them as were on the look-out to buy or
sell, nodded familiarly as he passed along. He re
plied to their salutations in the same way ; but be
stowed no closer recognition imtil he reached the
farther end of the alley, Avhen he stopped to address
a salesman of small stature, who had squeezed ;:s
much of his person into a child's chair as the chair
would hold, and was smoking a pipe at his ware
house door.

" Why, the sight of you, Mr. Fagin, would cure the
hoptalmy !" said this respectable trader, in acknowl
edgment of the Jew's inquiry after his health.

" The neighborhood was a little too hot, Lively,"
said Fagin, elevating his eyebrows, and crossing his
hands upon his shoulders.

"Well, I've heerd that complaint of it once or
twice before," replied the trader ; " but it soon cools
down again ; don't you find it so ?"

Fagin nodded in the affirmative. Pointing in the
direction of Saffron Hill, he inquired whether any
one was up yonder to-night.

" At the Cripples ?" inquired the man.

The Jew nodded.

"Let me see," pursued the merchant, reflecting.
" Yes, there's some half dozen of 'em gone in, that I
knows. I don't think your friend's there."

" Sikes is not, I suppose?" inquired the Jew, witli
a disappointed countenance.

" Xon istwentus, as the lawyers say," replied the lit
tle man, shaking his head, and looking amazingly
sly. " Have you got any thing in my line to-night I"

" Nothing to-night," said the Jew, turning away.

"Are you going up to The Cripples, Fagiu?" cried
the little man, calling after him. " Stop ! I don't
mind if I have a drop there with you."

But as the Jew, looking back, waved his hand to
intimate that he preferred being alone, and, more
over, as the little man could not very easily disen
gage himself from the chair, the sign of The Cripples
was for a time bereft of the advantage of Mr. Live-
ly's presence. By the time he had got upon his legs
the Jew had disappeared ; so Mr. Lively, after inef
fectually standing on tiptoe, in the hope of catch-

FAGIN AMONG HIS DEVOTED SERVANTS.

ing sight of him, again forced himself into the little
chair, and, exchanging a shake of the head with a
lady in the opposite shop, in which doubt and mis-
t rust were plainly mingled, resumed his pipe with a
grave demeanor.

The Three Cripples, or rather The Cripples, which
was the sign by which the establishment was famil
iarly known to its patrons, was the public-house in
which Mr. Sikes and his dog have already figured.
Merely making a sign to a man at the bar, Fagin
walked straight up stairs, and opening the door of a
room, and softly insinuating himself into the cham
ber, looked anxiously about shading his eyes with
his hand, as if in search of some particular person.

The room was illuminated by two gas-lights ; the
glare of which was prevented, by the barred shut
ters and closely-drawn curtains of faded red, from
being visible outside. The ceiling was blackened,
to prevent its color from being injured by the flar
ing of the lamps ; and the place was so full of dense
tobacco smoke, that at first it was scarcely possible
to discern any thing more. By degrees, however, as
some of it cleared away through the open door, an
assemblage of heads, as confused as the noises that
greeted the ear, might be made out ; and as the eye
grew more accustomed to the scene, the spectator
gradually became aware of the presence of a numer
ous company, male and female, crowded round a
long table, at the upper end of which sat a chair
man, with a hammer of office in his hand; while a
professional gentleman, with a bluish nose, and his
face tied up for the benefit of a toothache, presided
at a jingling piano in a remote corner.

As Fagin stepped softly in, the professional gen
tleman, running over the keys by way of prelude,
occasioned a general cry of order for a song ; which
having subsided, a young lady proceeded to enter
tain the company with a ballad in four verses, be
tween each of which the accompanyist played the
melody all through, as loud as he could. When this
was over, the chairman gave a sentiment, after which
the professional gentlemen on the chairman's right
and left volunteered a duet, and sang it with great
applause.

It was curious to observe some faces which stood
out prominently from among the group. There was
the chairman himself (the landlord of the house), a
coarse, rough, heavy -built fellow, who, while the
songs were proceeding, rolled his eyes hither and
thither, and, seeming to give himself up to joviality,
had an eye for every thing that was done, and an
ear for every thing that was said and sharp ones,
too. Near him were the singers, receiving with pro
fessional indifference the* compliments of the com
pany, and applying themselves, in turn, to a dozen
proffered glasses of spirits-and-water, tendered by
their more boisterous admirers, whose countenances,
expressive of almost every vice, in almost every
grade, irresistibly attracted the attention by their
very repulsiveness. Cunning, ferocity, and drunk
enness in all its stages, were there in their strongest
aspects; and women, some with the last lingering
tinge of their early freshness almost fading as you
looked ; others with every mark and stamp of their
sex utterly beaten out. and presenting but one loath
some blank of profligacy and crime ; some mere girls,
F

others but young women, and none past the prime
of life ; formed the darkest and saddest portion of
this dreary picture.

Fagin, troubled by no grave emotions, looked ea
gerly from face to face while these proceedings were
in progress, but apparently without meeting that of
which he was in search. Succeeding at length in
catching the eye of the man who occupied the chair,
he beckoned to him slightly, and left the room as
quietly as he had entered it.

" What can I do for you, Mr. Fagin ?" inquired the
man, as he followed him out to the landing. "Won't
you join us ? They'll be delighted, every one of 'em."

The Jew shook his head impatiently, and said, in a
whisper, " Is lie here ?"

" No," replied the man.

"And no news of Barney ?" inquired Fagin.

tf None," replied the landlord of The Cripples ; for
it was he. " He won't stir till it's all safe. Depend
on it, they're on the scent down there ; and that if
he moved, he'd blow upon the thing at once. He's
all right enough, Barney is, else I should have heard
of him. I'll pound it, that Barney's managing prop
erly. Let him alone for that !"

" Will he be here to-night ?" asked the Jew, laying
the same emphasis on the pronoun as before.

"Monks, do you mean?" inquired the landlord,
hesitating.

" Hush !" said the Jew. " Yes."

" Certain," replied the man, drawing a gold watch
from his fob ; " I expected him here before now. If
you'll wait ten minutes, he'll be "

" No, no," said the Jew, hastily ; as though, how
ever desirous he might be to see the person in ques
tion, he was nevertheless relieved by his absence.
" Tell him I came here to see him ; and that he must
come to me to-night. No, say to-morrow. As he is
not here, to-morrow will be time enough."

" Good !" said the man. " Nothing more ?"

" Not a word now," said the Jew, descending the
stairs.

" I say," said the other, looking over the rails, and
speaking in a hoarse whisper ; " what a time this
would be for a sell ! I've got Phil Barker here, so
drunk that a boy might take him."

"Aha!, But it's not Phil Barker's time," said the
Jew, looking up. " Phil has something more to do
before we can afford to part with him ; so go back
to the company, my dear, and tell them to lead mer
ry lives while they last. Ha ! ha ! ha !"

The landlord reciprocated the old man's laugh,
and returned to his guests. The Jew was no sooner
alone, than his countenance resumed its former ex
pression of anxiety and thought. After a brief re
flection, he called a hack cabriolet, and bade the
man drive toward Betlmal Green. He dismissed
him within some quarter of a mile of Mr. Sikes's
residence, and performed the short remainder of the
distance on foot.

" Now," muttered the Jew, as he knocked at the
door, " if there is any deep play here, I shall have it
out of you, niy girl, cunning as you are."

She was in her room, the \vomau said. Fagin crept
softly up stairs, and entered it without any previous
ceremony. The girl was alone ; lying with her head
upon the table, and her hair straggling over it.

OLIVER TWIST.

" She has beeii drinking," thought the Jew, coolly,
" or perhaps she is only miserable."

The old man turned to close the door as he made
this reflection ; the noise thus occasioned roused the
girl. She eyed his crafty face narrowly as she in
quired whether there was any news, and as she list
ened to his recital of Toby Crackit's story. When
it was concluded, she sank into her former attitude,
but spoke not a word. She pushed the candle im
patiently away ; and once or twice, as she feverish
ly changed her position, shuffled her feet upon the
ground ; but this was all.

During the silence, the Jew looked restlessly about
the room, as if to assure himself that there were no
appearances of Sikes having covertly returned. Ap
parently satisfied with his inspection, he coughed
twice or thrice, and made as many efforts to open a
conversation ; but the girl heeded him no more than
if he had been made of stone. At length he made
another attempt; and rubbing his hands together,
said, in his most conciliatory tone,

"And where should you think Bill was now, my
dear?"

The girl moaned out some half intelligible reply
that she could not tell ; and seemed, from the smoth
ered noise that escaped her, to be crying.

"And the boy, too," said the Jew, straining his
eyes to catch a glimpse of her face. ". Poor leetle
child ! Left in a ditch, Nance ; only think !"

"The child!" said the girl, suddenly looking up,
" is better where he is than among us ; and if no
harm comes to Bill from it, I hope he lies dead in the
ditch, and that his young bones may rot there."

" What !" cried the Jew, in amazement.

"Ay, I do," returned the girl, meeting his gaze.
" I shall be glad to have him away from my eyes,
and to know that the worst is over. I can't bear
to have him about me. The sight of him turns me
against myself, and all of you."

" Pooh !" said the Jew, scornfully. " You're drunk."

"Ami?" cried the girl, bitterly. "It's no fault
of yours, if I am not ! You'd never have me any
thing else, if you had your will, except now ; the
humor doesn't suit you, doesn't it ?"

" No !" rejoined the Jew, furiously. " It does not."

"Change it, then!" responded the girl, with a
laugh.

" Change it !" exclaimed the Jew, exasperated be
yond all bounds by his companion's unexpected ob
stinacy, and the vexation of the night. " I WILL
change it ! Listen to me, you drab ! Listen to me,
who with six words can strangle Sikes as surely as
if I had his bull's throat between my fingers now.
If he comes back, and leaves the boy behind him if
he gets off" free, and, dead or alive, fails to restore him
to me murder him yourself if you would have him
escape Jack Ketch. And do it the moment he sets
foot in this room, or, mind me, it will be too late !"

" What is all this ?" cried the girl, involuntarily.

"What is it?" pursued Fagiu, mad with rage.
" When the boy's worth hundreds of pounds to me,
am I to lose what chance threw me in the way of
getting safely, through the whims of a drunken gang
that I could whistle away the lives of? And me
bound, too, to a born devil that only wants the will,
and has the power to, to "

Panting for breath, the old man stammered for a
word ; and in that instant checked the torrent of his
wrath, and changed his whole demeanor. A moment
before, his clenched hands had grasped the air, his
eyes had dilated, and his face grown livid with pas
sion ; but now he shrunk into a chair, and, cowering
together, trembled with the apprehension of having
himself disclosed some hidden villainy. After a
short silence, he ventured to look round at his com
panion. He appeared somewhat reassured, on be
holding her in the same listless attitude from which
he had first roused her.

" Nancy, dear !" croaked the Jew in his usual voice.
" Did you mind me, dear ?"

"Don't worry me now, Fagiu!" replied the girl,
raising her head languidly. " If Bill has not done
it this time, he will another. He has done many a
good job for you, and Avill do many more when he
can ; and when he can't he won't ; so no more about
that."

" Regarding this boy, my dear ?" said the Jew, rub
bing the palms of his hands nervously together.

"The boy must take his chance with the rest," in
terrupted Nancy, hastily ; " and I say again, I hope
he is dead, and out of harm's way, and out of yours
that is, if Bill comes to no harm. And if Toby
got clear oif, Bill's pretty sure to be safe ; for Bill's
worth two of Toby any time."

"And about what I was saying, my dear?" ob
served the Jew, keeping his glistening eye steadily
upon her.

" You must say it all over again, if it's any thing
you want me to do," rejoined Nancy; "and if it is,
you had better wait till to-morrow. You put mo up
for a minute ; but now I'm stupid again."

Fagin put several other questions, all with the
same drift of ascertaining whether the girl had prof
ited by his unguarded hints ; but she answered them
so readily, and was withal so utterly unmoved by liis
searching looks, that his original impression of her
being more than a trifle in liquor was confirmed.
Nancy, indeed, was not exempt from a failing which
was very common among the Jew's female pupils ;
and in which, in their tenderer years, they were rath
er encouraged than checked. Her disordered ap
pearance, and a wholesale perfume of Geneva which
pervaded the apartment, afforded strong confirmato
ry evidence of the justice of the Jew's supposition ;
and when, after indulging in the temporary display
of violence above described, she subsided, first into
dullness, and afterward into a compound of feelings,
under the influence of which she shed tears one min
ute, and in the next gave utterance to various ex
clamations of " Never sajfc die !" and divers calcula
tions as to what might be the amount of the odds so
long as a lady or gentleman was happy, Mr. Fagin,
who had had considerable experience of such matters
in his time, saw, with great satisfaction, that she was
very far gone indeed.

Having eased his mind by this discovery; and
having accomplished his twofold object of imparting
to the girl what he had that night heard, and of as
certaining with his own eyes that Sikes had not re
turned, Mr. Fagin again turned his face homeward,
leaving his young Mend asleep, with her head upon
the table.

FAGIN AND HIS VISITOR.

8;5

It was withiii an hour of midnight. The weather
being dark and piercing cold, lie had no great temp
tation to loiter. The sharp wind that scoured the
streets seemed to have cleared them of passengers,
as of dust and mud, for few people were abroad, and
they were to all appearance hastening fast home.
It blew from the right quarter for the Jew, however,
and straight before it he went, trembling, and shiv
ering, as every fresh gnst drove him rudely on his
way.

He had reached the corner of his own street, and
was already fumbling in his pocket for the door-key,
when a dark figure emerged from a projecting en
trance which lay in deep shadow, and, crossing the
road, glided up to him unperceived.

" Fagiu !" whispered a voice close to his ear.

remarking that he had better say what he had got
to say under cover ; for his blood was chilled with
standing about so long, and the wind blew through
him.

Fagin looked as if he could have willingly excused
himself from taking home a visitor at that unseason
able hour ; and, indeed, muttered something about
having no fire ; but his companion repeating his re
quest in a peremptory manner, he unlocked the door,
and requested bim to close it softly, while he got a
light.

" It's as dark as the grave," said the man, groping
forward a few steps. " Make haste !"

" Shut the door," whispered Fagiu, from the end
of the passage. As he spoke, it closed with a loud
noise.

FAGIN !' WHISPERED A VOICE CLOSE TO HIS EAE."

"Ah!" said the Jew, turning quickly round, "is
that

"Yes!" interrupted the stranger. "I have been
lingering here these two hours. Where the devil
have you been?"

" On your business, my dear," replied the Jew,
glancing uneasily at his companion, and slackening
his pace as he spoke. " On your business, all night."

" Oh, of course," said the stranger, with a sneer.
" Well ; and what's come of it ?"

" Nothing good," said the Jew.

" Nothing bad, I hope ?" said the stranger, stopping
short and turning a startled look on his companion.

The Jew shook his head, and was about to reply,
when the stranger, interrupting him, motioned to the
house, before which they had by this time arrived ;

" That wasn't my doing," said the other man, feel
ing his way. " The wind blew it to, or it shut of its
own accord, one or the other. Look sharp with the
light, or I shall knock my brains out against some
thing in this confounded hole."

Fagin stealthily descended the kitchen stairs. Af
ter a short absence, he returned with a lighted cau
dle, and the intelligence that Toby Crackit was asleep
in the back room below, and that the boys were in the
front one. Beckoning the man to follow him, he led
the way up stairs.

" We can say the few words we've got to say in
here, my dear," said the Jew, throwing open a door
on the first floor ; " and as there are holes in the shut
ters, and we never show lights to our neighbors, we'll
set the candle on the stairs. There !"

OLIVER TWIST.

With those words, the Jew, stooping down, placed
the candle on an upper flight of stairs exactly oppo
site to the room-door. This done, he led the way
into the apartment ; which was destitute of all mov
ables save a broken arm-chair, and an old couch or
sofa, without covering, which stood behind the door.
Upon this piece of furniture the stranger sat himself
with the air of a weary man ; and the Jew, drawing
up the arm-chair opposite, they sat face to face. It
was not quite dark ; the door was partially open,
and the candle outside threw a feeble reflection on
the opposite wall.

They conversed for some time in whispers. Though
nothing of the conversation was distinguishable be
yond a few disjointed words here and there, a listen
er might easily have perceived that Fagiii appeared
to be defending himself against some remarks of the
stranger, and that the latter was in a state of con
siderable irritation. They might have been talking
thus for a quarter of an hour or more, when Monks
by which name the Jew had designated the strange
man several times in the course of their colloquy
said, raising his voice a little,

" I tell you again, it w r as badly planned. Why not
have kept him here among the rest, and made a sneak
ing, sniveling pickpocket of him at once ?"

" Only hear him !" exclaimed the Jew, shrugging
his shoulders.

"Why, do you mean to say you couldn't have
done it if you had chosen ?" demanded Monks, stern
ly. " Haven't you done it with other boys scores of
times ? If you had had patience for a twelvemonth
at most, couldn't you have got him convicted, and
sent safely out of the kingdom perhaps for life ?"

" Whose turn would that have served, my dear ?"
inquired the Jew, humbly.

" Mine," replied Monks.

" But not mine," said the Jew, submissively. " He
might have become of use to me. W T hen there are
two parties to a bargain, it is only reasonable that
the interests of both should be consulted ; is it, my
good friend f "

" What then ?" demanded Monks.

" I saw it was not easy to train him to the busi
ness," replied the Jew ; " he was not like other boys
in the same circumstances."

" Curse him, no !" muttered the man, " or he would
have been a thief long ago."

"I had no hold upon him to make him worse,"
pursued the Jew, anxiously watching the counte
nance of his companion. " His hand was not in. I
had nothing to frighten him with ; which we always
must have in the beginning, or we labor in vain.
What could I do ? Send him out with the Dodger
and Charley ? We had enough of that at first, my
dear ; I trembled for us all."

" That was not my doing," observed Monks.

" No, no, my dear !" renewed the Jew. "And I don't
quarrel with it now ; because, if it had never hap
pened, you might never have clapped eyes upon the
hoy to notice him, and so led to the discovery that
it was him you were looking for. W T ell ! I got him
hack for you by means of the girl; and then she be
gins to favor him."

" Throttle the girl !" said Monks, impatiently.

' Why, we can't afford to do that just now, my
dear," replied the Jew, smiling; "and, besides, that
sort of thing is not in our way ; or, one of these d:i vs.
I might be glad to have it done. I know what these
girls are, Monks, well. As soon as the boy begins to
harden, she'll care no more for him than for a block
of wood. You want him made a thief. If he is alive,
I can make him one from this time ; and if if "
said the Jew, drawing nearer to the other " it's not
likely, mind but if the worst comes to the worst,
and he is dead "

"It's no fault of mine if he is!" interposed the oth
er man, with a look of terror, and clasping the Jew's
arm with trembling hands. "Mind that, Fagiii! I
had no hand in it. Any thing but his death, I told
you from the first. I won't shed blood ; it's always
found out, and haunts a man besides. If they shot
him dead, I was not the cause ; do you hear me ?
Fire this infernal don ! What's that ?"

"What!" cried the Jew, grasping the coward round
the body with both arms, as he sprung to his feet.
" Where ?"

"Yonder!" replied the man, glaring at the oppo
site wall. " The shadow ! I saw the shadow of a
woman, in a cloak and bonnet, pass along the wain
scot like a breath !"

The Jew released his hold, and they rushed tu-
multuously from the room. The candle, wasted by
the draught, was standing where it had been placed.
It showed them only the empty staircase and their
own white faces. They listened intently: a pro
found silence reigned throughout the house.

"It's your fancy," said the Jew, taking up the
light and turning to his companion.

" I'll swear I saw it !" replied Monks, trembling.
" It was bending forward when I saw it first ; and
when I spoke it darted away."

The Jew glanced contemptuously at the pale face
of his associate, and telling him he could follow if he
pleased, ascended the stairs. They looked into all
the rooms ; they were cold, bare, and empty. They
descended into the passage, and thence into the cel
lars below. The green damp hung upon the low
walls ; the tracks of the snail and slug glistened in
the light of the candle ; but all was still as death.

" What do you think, now ?" said the Jew, when
they had regained the passage. " Besides ourselves,
there's not a creature in the house except Toby arid
the boys ; and they're safe enough. See here !"

As a proof of the fact, the Jew drew forth two
keys from his pocket ; and explained, that when he
first went down stairs he had locked them in, to pre
vent any intrusion on the conference.

This accumulated testimony effectually staggered
Mr. Monks. His protestations had gradually become
less and less vehement as they proceeded in their
search without making any discovery ; and now he
gave vent to several very grim laughs, and con
fessed it could only have been his excited imagina
tion. He declined any renewal of the conversation,
however, for that night, suddenly remembering that
it \\as past one o'clock. And so the amiable couple
parted.

BUMBLE FURTHER ALLAYS HIS CURIOSITY.

CHAPTER XXVII.

ATONES FOR THE UNPOLITENESS OF A FORMER CHAPTER,
WHICH DESERTED A LADY MOST UNCEREMONIOUSLY.

AS it would be by no means seemly in a humble
author to keep so mighty a personage as a bea
dle waiting, with his back to the fire, and the skirts
of his coat gathered up under his arms, until such
time as itmight suit his pleasure to relieve him ; and
as it would still less become his station or his gal
lantry to involve in the same neglect a lady on whom
that beadle had looked with an eye of tenderness and
affection, and in whose ear he had whispered sweet
words, which, coming from such a quarter, might
well thrill the bosom of maid or matron of whatso
ever degree ; the historian whose pen traces these
words trusting that he knows his place, and that
he entertains a becoming reverence for those upon
earth to whom high and important authority is del
egated hastens to pay them that respect which
their position demands, and to treat them with all
that duteous ceremony which their exalted rank,
and (by consequence) great virtues, imperatively
claim at his hands. Toward this end, indeed, he had
purposed to introduce, in this place, a dissertation
touching the divine right of beadles, and elucidative
of the position that a beadle can do no wrong ; which
could not fail to have been both pleasurable and
profitable to the right-minded reader, but which
he is unfortunately compelled, by want of time and
space, to postpone to some more convenient and fit
ting opportunity ; on the arrival of which, he will
be prepared to show, that a beadle properly consti
tuted that is to say, a parochial beadle, attached to
a parochial work-house, and attending in his official
capacity the parochial church is, in right and virtue
of his office, possessed of all the excellences and best
qualities of humanity; and that to none of those
excellences can mere companies' beadles, or court-of-
law beadles, or even chapel-of-ease beadles (save the
last, and they in a very lowly and inferior degree),
lay the remotest sustainable claim.

Mr. Bumble had re-counted the tea-spoons, re-
weighed the sugar-tongs, made a closer inspection
of the milk-pot, and ascertained to a nicety the ex
act condition of the furniture, down to the very
horse-hair seats of the chairs ; and had repeated each
process full half a dozen times, before he began to
think that it was time for Mrs. Comey to return.
Thinking begets thinking : as there were no sounds
of Mrs. Corney's approach, it occurred to Mr. Bumble
that it would be an innocent and virtuous way of
spending the time, if he were further to allay his
curiosity by a cursory glance at the interior of Mrs.
Corney's chest of drawers.

Having listened at the key-hole, to assure himself
that nobody was approaching the chamber, Mr. Bum
ble, beginning at the bottom, proceeded to make him
self acquainted with the contents of the three long
drawers ; which, being filled with various garments
of good fashion and texture, carefully preserved be-
tweeu two layers of old newspapers, speckled with
dried lavender, seemed to yield him exceeding sat
isfaction. Arriving, in course of time, at the right-
hand corner drawer (in which was the key), and be
holding therein a small padlocked box, which, being

shaken, gave forth a pleasant sound, as of the chink
ing of coin, Mr. Bumble returned with a stately walk
to the fire-place ; and, resuming his old attitude, said,
with a grave and determined air, " I'll do it !" He
followed up this remarkable declaration, by shaking
his head in a waggish manner for ten minutes, as
though he were remonstrating with himself for be
ing such a pleasant dog ; and then he took a view
of his legs in profile, with much seeming pleasure
and interest.

He was still placidly engaged in this latter survey,
when Mrs. Corney, hurrying into the room, threw her
self, in a breathless state, on a chair by the fireside,
and covering her eyes with one hand, placed the oth
er over her heart, and gasped for breath.

" Mrs. Comey," said Mr. Bumble, stooping over the
matron, " what is this, ma'am ? Has any thing hap
pened, ma'am? Pray answer me. I'm on on
Mr. Bumble, in his alarm, could not immediately
think of the word " tenter-hooks," so he said " broken
bottles."

" Oh, Mr. Bumble !" cried the lady, " I have been
so dreadfully put out !"

" Put out, ma'am !" exclaimed Mr. Bumble ; " who
has dared to ? I know !" said Mr. Bumble, check
ing himself, with native majesty, " this is them wi-
cious paupers !"

"It's dreadful to think of!" said the lady, shud
dering.

"Then don't think of it, ma'am," rejoined Mr.
Bumble.

" I can't help it," whimpered the lady.

" Then take something, ma'am," said Mr. Bumble,
soothingly. " A little of the wine ?"

"Not for the world!" replied Mrs. Corney. "I
couldn't oh ! The top shelf in the right-hand cor
ner oh!" Uttering these words, the good lady
pointed, distractedly, to the cupboard, and under
went a convulsion from internal spasms. Mr. Bum
ble rushed to the closet ; and, snatching a pint green-
glass bottle from the shelf thus incoherently indi
cated, filled a tea-cup with its contents, and held it
to the lady's lips.

" I'm better now," said Mrs. Corney, falling back,
after drinking half of it.

Mr. Bumble raised his eyes piously to the ceiling
in thankfulness ; and, bringing them down again to
the brim of the cup, lifted it to his nose.

" Peppermint," exclaimed Mrs. Corney, in a faint
voice, smiling gently on the beadle as she spoke.
"Try it! There's a little a little something else
in it."

Mr. Bumble tasted the medicine w^ith a doubtful
look ; smacked his lips ; took another taste ; and put
the cup down empty.

" It's very comforting," said Mrs. Corney.

"Very much so, indeed, ma'am," said the beadle.
As he spoke, he drew a chair beside the matron, and
tenderly inquired what had happened to distress her.

" Notliing," replied Mrs. Corney. " I am a foolish,
excitable, weak creetur."

" Not weak, ma'am," retorted Mr. Bumble, drawing
his chair a little closer. "Are you a weak creetur,
Mrs. Corney ?"

"We are all weak creeturs," said Mrs. Corney, lay
ing down a general principle.

OLIVER TWIST.

" So we are," said the beadle.

Nothing was said, on either side, for a minute or
two afterward. By the expiration of that time, Mr.
Bumble had illustrated the position by removing his
left arm from the back of Mrs. Corney's chair, where
it had previously rested, to Mrs. Corney's apron-
string, round which it gradually became entwined.

"We are all weak creeturs," said Mr. Bumble.

Mrs. Corney sighed.

" Don't sigh, Mrs. Corney," said Mr. Bumble.

" I can't help it," said Mrs. Coriiey. And she sigh
ed again.

" This is a very comfortable room, ma'am," said

"And candles," replied Mrs. Corney, slightly re
turning the pressure.

"Coals, candles, and house -rent free," said Mr.
Bumble. " Oh, Mrs. Corney, what a angel you are !"

The lady was not proof against this burst of feel
ing. She sank into Mr. Bumble's arms ; and that
gentleman, in his agitation, imprinted a passionate
kiss upon her chaste nose.

" Such porochial perfection !" exclaimed Mr. Bum
ble, rapturously. " You know that Mr. Slout is worse
to-night, my fascinator ?"

" Yes," replied Mrs. Coruey, bashfully.

" He can't live a week, the doctor says," pursued

" 'DON'T SIGH, MBS. OOKNEY,' SAID MR. BUMBLE."

Mr. Bumble, looking round. "Another room, and
this, ma'am, would be a complete thing."

" It would be too much for one," murmured the lady.

" But not for two, ma'am," rejoined Mr. Bumble, in
soft accents. " Eh, Mrs. Corney ?"

Mrs. Corney drooped her head when the beadle
said this ; the beadle drooped his, to get a view of
Mrs. Corney's face. Mrs. Coruey, with great propri
ety, turned her head away, and released her hand to
get at her pocket-handkerchief; but insensibly re
placed it in that of Mr. Bumble.

" The board allow you coals, don't they, Mrs. Cor
ney ?" inquired the beadle, affectionately pressing her
hand.

Mr. Bumble. "He is the master of this establish
ment ; his death will cause a wacancy : that wacan-
cy must be filled up. Oh, Mrs. Corney, what a pros
pect this opens ! What a opportunity for a jiniug of
hearts and housekeepings !"

Mrs. Corney sobbed.

" The little word f ' said Mr. Bumble, bending over
the bashful beauty. " The one little, little, little
word, my blessed Corney ?"

" Ye ye yes !" sighed out the matron.

" One more," pursued the beadle ; " compose your
darling feelings for only one more. When is it to
come off?"

Mrs. Corney twice essayed to speak, and twice fail-

MR. CLAY POLE AXD THE OYSTERS.

ed. At length summoning up courage, she threw
her arms roimcl Mr. Bumble's neck, and said it might
be as soon as ever he pleased, and that he was a
irresistible duck."

Matters being thus amicably and satisfactorily ar
ranged, the contract was solemnly ratified in anoth
er tea-cupful of the peppermint mixture ; which was
rendered the more necessary by the flutter and agi
tation of the lady's spirits. While it was being dis
posed of, she acquainted Mr. Bumble with the old
woman's decease.

" Very good," said that gentleman, sipping his pep
permint ; " I'll call at Sowerberry's as I go home, and
tell him to send to-morrow morning. Was it that
as frightened yon, love ?''

" It wasn't any thing particular, dear," said the
lady, evasively.

" It must have been something, love," urged Mr.
Bumble. " Won't you tell your own B. ?"

" Not now," rejoined the lady ; " one of these days.
After we're married, dear."

"After we're married!" exclaimed Mr. Bumble.
" It wasn't any impudence from any of them male
paupers as :

" No, no, love !" interposed the lady, hastily.

" If I thought it was," continued Mr. Bumble ; " if
I thought as any one of 'em had dared to lift his wul-
gar eyes to that lovely countenance :

" They wouldn't have dared to do it, love," re
sponded the lady.

" They had better not !" said Mr. Bumble, clenching
his list. " Let me see any man, porochial or extra-
porochial, as would presume to do it ; and I can tell
lihn that he wouldn't do it a second time !"

Unembellished by any violence of gesticulation,
this might have seemed no very high compliment to
the lady's charms ; but, as Mr. Bumble accompanied
the threat with many warlike gestures, she was much
touched with this proof of his devotion, and pro
tested, with great admiration, that he was indeed a
dove.

The dove then turned up his coat-collar, and put
on his cocked hat ; and, having exchanged a long
and affectionate embrace with his future partner,
once again braved the cold wind of the night, mere
ly pausing, for a few minutes, in the male paupers'
ward, to abuse them a little, with the view of satis-
lying himself that he could fill the office of work
house master with needful acerbity. Assured of his
qualifications, Mr. Bumble left the building with a
light heart, and bright visions of his future promo
tion, which served to occupy his mind until he reach
ed the shop of the undertaker.

Now Mr. and Mrs. Sowerberry having gone out to
tea and supper, and Noah Claypole not being at any
time disposed to take upon himself a greater amount
of physical exertion than is necessary to a conven
ient performance of the two functions of eating and
drinking, the shop was not closed, although it was
past the usual hour of shutting up. Mr. Bumble
tapped with his cane on the counter several times ;
but, attracting no attention, and beholding a light
shining through the glass-window of the little par
lor at the back of the shop, he made bold to peep in
and see what was going forward ; and when he saw
what u-as going forward, he was not a little surprised.

The cloth was laid for supper ; the table was cov
ered with bread-and-butter, plates and glasses, a por
ter-pot, and a wine-bottle. At the upper end of
the table Mr. Noah Claypole lolled negligently in an
easy-chair, with his legs thrown over one of the
arms, an open clasp-knife in one hand, and a mass of
buttered bread in the other. Close beside him stood
Charlotte, opening oysters from a barrel, which Mr.
Claypole condescended to swallow with remarkable
avidity. A more than ordinary redness in the re
gion of the young gentleman's nose, and a kind of
fixed wink in his right eye, denoted that he was in a
slight degree intoxicated ; these symptoms were con
firmed by the intense relish with which he took his
oysters, for which nothing but a strong appreciation
of their cooling properties, in cases of internal fever,
could have sufficiently accounted.

" Here's a delicious fat one, Noah, dear !" said Char
lotte ; " try him, do ; only this one."

"What a delicious thing is a oyster !" remarked
Mr. Claypole, after he had swallowed it. "What a
pity it is, a number of 'em should ever make you feel
uncomfortable ; isn't it, Charlotte f '

" It's quite a cruelty," said Charlotte.

"So it is," acquiesced Mr. Claypole. "A'n't yer
fond of oysters ?"

" Not overmuch," replied Charlotte. " I like to
see you eat 'em, Noah dear, better than eating 'em
myself."

" Lor* !" said Noah, reflectively ; " how queer !"

" Have another," said Charlotte. " Here's one with
such a beautiful, delicate beard !"

" I can't manage any more," said Noah. " I'm very
sorry. Come here, Charlotte, and I'll kiss yer."

"What!" said Mr. Bumble, bursting into the room.
" Say that again, sir."

Charlotte uttered a scream, and hid her face in her
apron. Mr. Claypole, without making any further
change in his position than suffering his legs to
reach the ground, gazed at the beadle in drunken
terror.

" Say it again, you wile, owdacious fellow !" said
Mr. Bumble. " How dare you mention such a thing,
sir ? And how dare you encourage him, you insolent
minx ? Kiss her!" exclaimed Mr. Bumble, in strong
indignation. " Faugh !"

" I didn't mean to do it !" said Noah, blubbering.
" She's always a-kissiug of me, whether I like it or
not,"

" Oh, Noah !" cried Charlotte, reproachfully.

" Yer are ; yer know yer are !" retorted Noah.
" She's always a-doing of it, Mr. Bumble, sir ; she
chucks me under the chin, please, sir ; and makes all
manner of love !"

" Silence !" cried Mr. Bumble sternly. " Take your
self down stairs, ma'am. Noah, you shut up the
shop ; say another word till your master comes home
at your peril ; and, when he does come home, tell
him that Mr. Bumble said he was to send a old wom
an's shell after breakfast to-morrow morning. Do
you hear, sir ? Kissing !" cried Mr. Bumble, holding
up his hands. " The sin and wickedness of the low
er orders in this porochial district is frightful ! If
Parliament don't take their abominable courses un
der consideration, this country's ruined, and the char
acter of the peasantry gone forever!" With these

OLIVER TWIST.

words, the beadle strode, \vith a lofty and gloomy
air, from the undertaker's premises.

And now that we have accompanied him so far on
his road home, and have made all necessary prepara
tions for the old woman's funeral, let us set on foot
a few inquiries after young Oliver Twist, and ascer
tain whether he be still lying in the ditch where
Toby Crackit left him.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

LOOKS AFTER OLIVER, AND PROCEEDS WITH HIS ADVEN
TURES.

" YT7OLVES tear your throats !" muttered Sikes,

T V grinding his teeth. "I wish I was among
some of you ; you'd howl the hoarser for it."

As Sikes growled forth this imprecation, with the
most desperate ferocity that his desperate nature
was capable of, he rested the body of the wounded
boy across his bended knee, and turned his head, for
an instant, to look back at his pursuers.

There was little to be made out, in the mist and
darkness; but the loud shouting of men vibrated
through the air, and the barking of the neighboring
dogs, roused by the sound of the alarm-bell, resound
ed in every direction.

" Stop, you white-livered hound !" cried the robber,
shouting after Toby Crackit, who, making the best
use of his long legs, was already ahead. " Stop !"

The repetition of the word brought Toby to a dead
stand-still. For he was not quite satisfied that he
was beyond the range of pistol-shot ; and Sikes was
in no mood to be played with.

" Bear a hand with the boy," cried Sikes, beckon
ing furiously to his confederate. " Come back !"

Toby made a show of returning ; but ventured, in
a low voice, broken for want of breath, to intimate
considerable reluctance as he came slowly along.

" Quicker !" cried Sikes, laying the boy in a dry
ditch at his feet, and drawing the pistol from his
pocket. " Don't play booty with me !"

At this moment the noise grew louder. Sikes,
again looking round, could discern that the men who
had given chase were already climbing the gate of
the field in which he stood; and that a couple of
dogs were some paces in advance of them.

" It's all up, Bill !" cried Toby ; " drop the kid, and
show 'em your heels." With this parting advice,
Mr. Crackit, preferring the chance of being shot by
his friend to the certainty of being taken by his ene
mies, fairly turned tail, and darted off at full speed.
Sikes clenched his teeth; took one look around;
threw over the prostrate form of Oliver the cape in
which he had been hurriedly muffled ; ran along the
front of the hedge, as if to distract the attention of
those behind from the spot where the boy lay :
paused for a second before another hedge which met
it at right angles ; and, whirling his pistol high into
the air, cleared it at a bound, and was gone.

" Ho, ho, there !" cried a tremulous voice in the
rear. " Pincher ! Neptune ! Come here, come here !"

The dogs, who, in common with their masters,
seemed to have no particular relish for the sport in
which they were engaged, readily answered to the

command. Three men, who had by this time ad
vanced some distance into the field, stopped to take
counsel together.

" My advice, or, leastways, I should say, my orders,
is," said the fattest man of the party, " that we 'me
diately go home again."

" I am agreeable to any thing which is agreeable
to Mr. Giles," said a shorter man ; who was by no
means of a> slirn figure, and who was very pale in the
face, and very polite ; as frightened men frequently
are.

" I shouldn't wish to appear ill-mannered, gentle
men," said the third, who had called the dogs back ;
" Mr. Giles ought to know."

" Certainly," replied the shorter man ; " and what
ever Mr. Giles says, it isn't our place to contradict
him. No, no, I know my sitiwation ! Thank my
stars, I know my sitiwation." To tell the truth, the
little man did seem to know his situation, and to
know perfectly well that it was by no means a de
sirable one ; for his teeth chattered in his head as he
spoke.

' You are afraid, Brittles," said Mr. Giles.

< I a'n't," said Brittles.

' You are," said Giles.

' You're a falsehood, Mr. Giles," said Brittles.

' You're a lie, Brittles," said Mr. Giles.

Now these four retorts arose from Mr. Giles's taunt ;
and Mr. Giles's taunt had arisen from his indignation
at having the responsibility of going home again
imposed upon himself under cover of a compliment.
The third man brought the dispute to a close, most
philosophic ally.

"I'll tell you what it is, gentlemen," said he,
" we're all afraid."

" Speak for yourself, sir," said Mr. Giles, who Avns
the palest of the party.

" So I do," replied the man. " It's natural and
proper to be afraid, under such circumstances. I
am."

" So am I," said Brittles ; " only there's no call to
tell a man he is, so bounceably."

These frank admissions softened Mr. Giles, who at
once owned that lie was afraid; upon which they
all three faced about, and ran back again with the
completest unanimity, until Mr. Giles (who had the
shortest wind of the party, and was encumbered
with a pitchfork) most handsomely insisted on stop
ping, to make an apology for his hastiness of speech.

" But it's wonderful," said Mr. Giles, when he had
explained, " what a man will do when his blood is
up. I should have committed murder I know I
should if we'd caught one of them rascals."

As the other two were impressed with a similar
presentiment ; and as their blood, like his, had all
gone down again ; some specTilation ensued upon the
cause of this sudden change in their temperament.

" I know what it was," said Mr. Giles ; " it was the
gate."

" I shouldn't wonder if it was," exclaimed Brittles,
catching at the idea.

" You may depend upon it," said Giles, " that that
gate stopped the flow of the excitement. I felt all
mine suddenly going away as I was climbing over
it."

Bv a remarkable coincidence, the other two had

OLI TEE'S HELPLESS CONDITION.

been visited with the same unpleasant sensation at
that precise moment. It was quite obvious, there
fore, that it was the gate ; especially as there was no
doubt regarding the time at which the change had
taken place, because all three remembered that they
had come in sight of the robbers at the instant of its
occurrence.

This dialogue was held between the two men who
had surprised the burglars, and a traveling tinker
who had been sleeping in an out-house, and who had
been roused, together with his two mongrel curs, to
join in the pursuit. Mr. Giles acted in the double
capacity of butler and steward to the old lady of the
mansion ; Brittles was a lad-of-all-work, who, hav
ing entered her service a mere child, was treated as
a promising young boy still, though he was some
thing past thirty.

Encouraging each other with such converse as
this ; but, keeping very close together, notwithstand
ing, and looking apprehensively round, whenever a
fresh gust rattled through the boughs, the three
men hurried back to a tree, behind which they had
left their lantern, lest its light should inform the
thieves in what direction to fire. Catching up the
light, they made the best of their way home at a
good round trot ; and long after their dusky forms
had ceased to be discernible, the light might have
been seen twinkling and dancing in the distance,
like some exhalation of the damp and gloomy atmos
phere through which it was swiftly borne.

The air grew colder as day came slowly on ; and
the mist rolled along the ground like a dense cloud
of smoke. The grass was wet ; the pathways and
low places were all mire and water; the damp
breath of an unwholesome wind went languidly by,
with a hollow moaning. Still, Oliver lay motionless
and insensible on the spot where Sikes had left him.

Morning drew on apace. The air became more
sharp and piercing, as its first dull hue the death
of night, rather than the birth of day glimmered
faintly in the sky. The objects which had looked
dim and terrible in the darkness grew more and
more defined, and gradually resolved into their fa
miliar shapes. The rain came down, thick and fast,
and pattered noisily among the leafless bushes. But
Oliver felt it not, as it beat against him; for he still
lay stretched, helpless and unconscious, on his bed of
clay.

At length, a low cry of pain broke the stillness that
prevailed.; and uttering it, the boy awoke. His left
arm. rudely bandaged in a shawl, hung heavy and
useless at his side : the bandage was saturated with
blood. He was so weak, that he could scarcely raise
himself into a sitting posture ; when he had done so,
he looked feebly round for help, and groaned with
pain. Trembling in every joint, from cold and ex
haustion, he made an effort to stand upright ; but,
shuddering from head to foot, fell prostrate on the
ground.

After a short return of the stupor in which he had
so long plunged, Oliver, urged by a creeping
sickness at his heart, which seemed to warn him
tli at. if he lay there, he must surely die, got upon
his feet, and essayed to walk. His head was dizzy,
and lie staggered to and fro like a drunken man.
But he kept up, nevertheless, and, with his head

drooping languidly on his breast, went stumbling
onward, he knew not whither.

And now, hosts of bewildering and confused ideas
canie crowding on his mind. He seemed to be still
walking between Sikes and Crackit, who were an
grily disputing for the very words they said sound
ed in his ears ; and when he caught his own atten
tion, as it were, by making some violent effort to
save himself from falling, he found that he was talk
ing to them. Then he was alone with Sikes, plod
ding on as on the previous day; and as shadowy
people passed them, he felt the robber's grasp upon
his wrist. Suddenly, he started back at the report
of fire-arms ; there rose into the air loud cries aud
shouts ; lights gleamed before his eyes ; all was noise
and tumult, and some unseen hand bore him hurried
ly away. Through all these rapid visions, there ran
an undefined, uneasy consciousness of pain, which
wearied and tormented him incessantly.

Thus he staggered on, creeping almost mechanic
ally, between the bars of gates, or through hedge-
gaps, as they came in his way, until he reached a
road. Here the rain began to fall so heavily, that it
roused him.

He looked about, and saw that at no great distance
there was a house, which perhaps he could reach.
Pitying his condition, they might have compassion
on him ; and if they did not, it would be better, he
thought, to die near human beings than in the lone
ly open fields. He summoned up all his strength for
one last trial, and bent his faltering steps toward it.

As he drew nearer to this house, a feeling came
over him that he had seen it before. He remember
ed nothing of its details ; but the shape aud aspect
of the building seemed familiar to him.

That garden wall ! On the grass inside, he had
fallen on his knees last night, and prayed the two
men's mercy. It was the very house they had at
tempted to rob.

Oliver felt such fear come over him when he rec
ognized the place, that, for the instant, he forgot
the agony of his wound, and thought only of flight.
Flight! He could scarcely stand; and if he were in
full possession of all the best powers of his slight and
youthful frame, whither could he fly ? He pushed
against the garden - gate ; it was unlocked, and
swung open on its hinges. He tottered across the
lawn ; climbed the steps ; knocked faintly at the
door ; and, his whole strength failing him, sunk
down against one of the pillars of the little portico.

It happened that about this time, Mr. Giles, Brit-
ties, and the tinker, were recruiting themselves, after
the fatigues and terrors of the night, with tea and
sundries, in the kitchen. Not that it was Mr. Giles's
habit to admit to too great familiarity the humbler
servants : toward whom it was rather his wont to
deport himself with a lofty affability, which, while
it gratified, could not fail to remind them of his su
perior position in society. But death, fires, and bur
glary, make all men equals ; so Mr. Giles sat with his
legs stretched out before the kitchen fender, leaning
his left arm on the table, while, with his right, he
illustrated a circumstantial and minute account of
the robbery, to which his hearers (but especially the
cook and house-maid, who were of the party) listened
with breathless interest.

OLIVER TWIST.

" It was about half-past two," said Mr. Giles, " or
I wouldn't swear that it mightn't have been a little
nearer three, when I woke up, and, turning round in
my bed, as it might be so (here Mr. Giles turned |
round in his chair, and pulled the corner of the ta- j
ble-cloth over him to imitate bed-clothes), I fancied
I heerd a noise."

At this point of the narrative the cook turned pale,
and asked the house-maid to shut the door : who ask
ed Brittles, who asked the tinker, who pretended not
to hear.

" Heerd a noise," continued Mr. Giles. " I says,
at first, ' This is illusion ;' and was composing my
self off to sleep, when I heerd the noise again, dis
tinct."

" What sort of a noise ?" asked the cook.

"A kind of a busting noise," replied Mr. Giles,
looking round him.

" More like the noise of powdering a iron bar on a
nutmeg-grater," suggested Brittles.

" It was, when you heerd it, sir," rejoined Mr. Giles ;
" but at this time it had a busting sound. I turned
down the clothes," continued Giles, rolling back the
table-cloth, " sat up in bed, and listened."

The cook and house-maid simultaneously ejacu
lated " Lor !" and drew their chairs closer together.

"I heerd it now, quite apparent," resumed Mr.
Giles. " ' Somebody,' I says, ' is forcing of. a door, or
window ; what's to be done ? I'll call up that poor
lad, Brittles, and save him from being murdered in
his bed ; or his throat,' I says, ' may be cut from his
right ear to his left, without his ever knowing it.' "

Here all eyes were turned upon Brittles, who fixed
his upon the speaker, and stared at him with his
mouth wide open, and his face expressive of the most
unmitigated horror.

"I tossed off the clothes," said Giles, throwing
away the table-cloth, and looking very hard at the
cook and house-maid, " got softly out of bed, drew
on a pair of "

" Ladies present, Mr. Giles," murmured the tinker.

" Of shoes, sir," said Giles, turning upon him,
and laying great emphasis on the word ; " seized the
loaded pistol that always goes up stairs with the
plate-basket; and walked on tiptoes to his room.
' Brittles,' I says, when I had woke him, ' don't be
frightened !' "

" So you did," observed Brittles, in a low voice.

" ' We're dead men, I think, Brittles,' I says," con
tinued Giles ; " ' but don't be frightened.' "

" Was he frightened ?" asked the cook.

" Not a bit of it," replied Mr. Giles. " He was as
firm ah ! pretty near as firm as I was."

" I should have died at once, I'm sure, if it had
been me," observed the house-maid.

" You're a woman," retorted Brittles, plucking up
a little.

" Brittles is right," said Mr. Giles, nodding his
head, approvingly ; " from a woman nothing else
was to be expected. We, being men, took a dark
lantern that was standing on Brittles's hob, and
groped our way down stairs in the pitch dark as
might be so."

Mr. Giles had risen from his seat, and taken two
steps with his eyes shut, to accompany his descrip
tion with appropriate action, when he started vio

lently, in common with the rest of the company, and
hurried back to his chair. The cook and house-maid
screamed.

" It was a knock," said Mr. Giles, assuming perfect
serenity. " Open the door, somebody."

Nobody moved.

" It seems a strange sort of a thing, a knock com
ing at such a time in the morning," said Mr. Giles,
surveying the pale faces which surrounded him, and
looking very blank himself; "but the door must be
opened. Do you hear, somebody ?"

Mr. Giles, as he spoke, looked at Brittles ; but that
young man, being naturally modest, probably con
sidered himself nobody, and so held that the inquiry
could not have any application to him ; at all events,
he tendered no reply. Mr. Giles directed an appeal
ing glance at the tinker ; but he had suddenly fallen
asleep. The women were out of the question.

" If Brittles would rather open the door in the
presence of witnesses," said Mr. Giles, after a short
silence, " I am ready to make one."

" So am I," said the tinker, waking up as suddenly
as he had fallen asleep.

Brittles capitulated on these terms ; and the par
ty being somewhat reassured by the discovery (made
on throwing open the shutters) that it was now
broad day, took their way up stairs, with the dogs
in front. The two women, who were afraid to stay
below, brought up the rear. By the advice of Mr.
Giles, they all talked very loud, to warn any evil-
disposed person outside that they were strong in
numbers; and by a master-stroke of policy, origi
nating in the brain of the same ingenious gentle
man, the dogs' tails were well pinched, in the hall,
to make them bark savagely.

These precautions having been taken, Mr. Giles
held on fast by the tinker's arm (to prevent his run
ning away, as he pleasantly said), and gave the word
of command to open the door. Brittles obeyed ; the
group, peeping timorously over each other's shoul
ders, beheld no more formidable object than poor
little Oliver Twist, speechless and exhausted, who
raised his heavy eyes and mutely solicited their com
passion.

"A boy!" exclaimed Mr. Giles, valiantly pushing
the tinker into the background. " What's the mat
ter with the Eh ? Why Brittles look here
don't you know ?"

Brittles, who had got behind the door to open it,
no sooner saw Oliver, than he uttered a loud cry.
Mr. Giles, seizing the boy by one leg and one arm
(fortunately not the broken limb) lugged him
straight into the hall, and deposited him at full
length on the floor thereof.

" Here he is !" bawled Giles, calling, in a state of
great excitement, up the staircase ; " here's one of
the thieves, ma'am ! Here's a thief, miss ! Wound
ed, miss ! I shot him, miss ; and Brittles held the
light."

" In a lantern, miss," cried Brittles, applying
one hand to the side of his mouth, so that his voice
might travel the better.

The two women-servants ran up stairs to carry
the intelligence that Mr. Giles had captured a rob
ber; and the tinker busied himself in endeavoring
to restore Oliver, lest he should die before he could

THE DOCTOR AEEIVE8.

be banged. In the midst of all tins noise and com
motion there was beard a sweet female voice, which
quelled it in an instant.

" Giles !" whispered the voice from the stairhead.

"I'm here, miss," replied Mr. Giles. "Don't be
frightened, miss ; I ain't much injured. He didn't
make a very desperate resistance, miss! I was soon
too many for him."

"Hush!" replied the young lady; "you frighten
my aunt as much as the thieves did. Is the poor
creature much hurt f"

" Wounded desperate, miss," replied Giles, with in
describable complacency.

" He looks as if he was a-going, miss," bawled
Brittles, in the same manner as before. " Wouldn't
you like to come and look at him, miss, in case he
should ?"

"Hush, pray; there's a good man!" rejoined the
lady. " Wait quietly only one instant, while I speak
to aunt."

With a footstep as soft and gentle as the voice,
the speaker tripped away. She soon returned, with
the direction that the wounded person was to be
carried carefully up stairs to Mr. Giles's room ; and
that Brittles was to saddle the pony and betake him
self instantly to Chertsey ; from which place he was
to dispatch, with all speed, a constable and doctor.

" But won't you take one look at him first, miss ?"
asked Mr. Giles, with as much pride as if Oliver were
some bird of rare plumage that he had skillfully
brought down. " Not one little peep, miss ?"

" Not now, for the world," replied the young lady.
" Poor fellow ! Oh ! treat him kindly, Giles, for my
sake !"

The old servant looked up at the speaker, as she
turned away, with a glance as proud and admiring
as if she had been his own child. Then, bending
over Oliver, he helped to carry him up stairs, with
the care and solicitude of a woman.

CHAPTER XXIX.

HAS AX INTRODUCTORY ACCOUNT OF THE INMATES OF
THE HOUSE TO WHICH OLIVER RESORTED.

IN a handsome room, though its furniture had
rather the air of old-fashioned comfort than of
modern elegance, there sat two ladies at a well-
spread breakfast-table. Mr. Giles, dressed with scru
pulous care in a full suit of black, was in attendance
upon them. He had taken his station some half-way
between the sideboard and the breakfast-table ; and,
with his body drawn up to its full height, his head
thrown back, and inclined the merest trifle on one
side, his left leg advanced, and his right hand thrust
into his waistcoat, while his left hung down by his
side, grasping a waiter, looked like one who labored
under a very agreeable sense of his own merits and
importance.

Of the two ladies, one was well advanced in years ;
but the high-backed oaken chair in which she sat
was not more upright than she. Dressed with the
utmost nicety and precision, in a quaint mixture of
by -gone costume, with some slight concessions to
the prevailing taste, which rather served to point

the old style pleasantly than to impair its effect, she
sat, in a stately manner, with her hands folded on
the table before her. Her eyes (and age had dimmed
but little of their brightness) were attentively fixed
upon her young companion.

The younger lady was in the lovely bloom and
spring-time of womanhood; at that age when, if
ever angels be for God's good purposes enthroned
in mortal forms, they may be, without impiety, sup
posed to abide in such as hers.

She was not past seventeen. Cast in so slight
and exquisite a mould ; so mild and gentle ; so pure
and beautiful ; that earth seemed not her element,
nor its rough creatures her fit companions. The
very intelligence that shone in her deep blue eye,
and was stamped upon her noble head, seemed scarce
ly of her age, or of the world ; and yet the changing
expression of sweetness and good-humor, the thou
sand lights that played about the face, and left no
shadow there ; above all, the smile, the cheerful,
happy smile, were made for Home, and fireside peace
and happiness.

She was busily engaged in the little offices of the
table. Chancing to raise her eyes as the elder lady
was regarding her, she playfully put back her hair,
which was simply braided on her forehead, and
threw into her beaming look such an expression of
affection and artless loveliness, that blessed spirits
might have smiled to look upon her.

" And Brittles has been gone upward of an hour,
has he f" asked the old lady, after a pause.

" An hour and twelve minutes, ma'am," replied Mr.
Giles, referring to a silver watch, which he drew forth
by a black ribbon.

" He is always slow," remarked the old lady.

" Brittles always was a slow boy, ma'am," replied
the attendant. And seeing, by-the-bye, that Brittles
had been a slow boy for upward of thirty years, there
appeared no great probability of his ever being a
fast one.

" He gets worse instead of better, I think," said
the elder lady.

" It is very inexcusable in him if he stops to play
with any other boys," said the young lady, smiling.

Mr. Giles was apparently considering the proprie
ty of indulging in a respectful smile himself, when a
gig drove up to the garden-gate, out of which there
jumped a fat gentleman, who ran straight up to the
door ; and who, getting quickly into the house by
some mysterious process, burst into the room, and
nearly overturned Mr. Giles and the breakfast-table
together.

" I never heard of such a thing !" exclaimed the
fat gentleman. " My dear Mrs. May lie bless my
soul in the silence of night, too I never heard of
such a thing !"

With these expressions of condolence, the fat gen
tleman shook hands with both ladies, and, drawing
up a chair, inquired how they found themselves.

" You ought to be dead, positively dead with the
fright," said the fat gentleman. " Why didn't you
send ? Bless me, my man should have come in a
minute ; and so would I ; and my assistant would
have been delighted ; or any body, I'm sure, under
such circumstances. Dear, dear! So unexpected!
In the silence of night, too !"

OLIVER TWIST.

The doctor seemed especially troubled by the fact
of the robbery having been unexpected, and at
tempted in the night-time ; as if it were the estab
lished custom of gentlemen in the house-breaking
way to transact business at noon, and to make an
appointment, by post, a day or two previous.

" And you, Miss Rose," said the doctor, turning to
the young lady, " I "

" Oh ! very much so, indeed," said Rose, interrupt
ing him; "but there is a poor creature up stairs
whom aunt wishes you to see."

" Ah ! to be sure," replied the doctor, " so there is.
That was your handiwork, Giles, I understand."

Mr. Giles, who had been feverishly putting the
tea-cups to rights, blushed very red, and said that
he had had that honor.

"Honor, eh?" said the doctor; "well, I don't
know ; perhaps it's as honorable to hit a thief in a
back kitchen as to hit your man at twelve paces.
Fancy that he fired in the air, and you've fought a
duel, Giles."

Mr. Giles, who thought this light treatment of the
matter an unjust attempt at diminishing his glory,
answered respectfully, that it was not for the like
of him to judge about that ; but he rather thought
it was no joke to the opposite party.

"Gad, that's true!" said the doctor. "Where is
he? Show me the way. I'll look in again, as I
come down, Mrs. Maylie. That's the little window
that he got in at, eh ? Well, I couldn't have be
lieved it !"

Talking all the way, he followed Mr. Giles up
stairs ; and while he is going up stairs, the reader
may be informed that Mr. Losberne, a surgeon in
the neighborhood, known through a circuit of ten
miles round as " the doctor," had grown fat, more
from good humor than from good living ; and was
as kind and hearty, and withal as eccentric an old
bachelor, as will be found in five times that space
by any explorer alive.

The doctor was absent much longer than either
he or the ladies had anticipated. A large flat box
was fetched out of the gig ; and a bedroom bell was
rung very often ; and the servants ran up and down
stairs perpetually ; from which tokens it was justly
concluded that something important was going on
above. At length he returned ; and in reply to an
anxious inquiry after his patient, looked very mys
terious, and closed the door carefully.

" This is a very extraordinary thing, Mrs. Maylie,"
said the doctor, standing with- his back to the door,
as if to keep it shut.

" He is not in danger, I hope ?" said the old lady.

"Why, that would not be an extraordinary thing,
under the circumstances," replied the doctor;
"though I don't think he is. Have you seen this
thief?"

" No," rejoined the old lady.

" Nor heard any thing about him ?"

"No."

" I beg your pardon, ma'am," interposed Mr. Giles ;
" but I was going to tell you about him when Doctor
Losberne came in."

The fact was, that Mr. Giles had not, at first, been
able to bring his mind to the avowal that he had
only shot a boy. Such commendations had been be

stowed upon his bravery, that he could not, for the
life of him, help postponing the explanation for a
few delicious minutes ; during which he had flour
ished in the very zenith of a brief reputation for un
daunted courage.

" Rose wished to see the man," said Mrs. Maylie,
" but J wouldn't hear of it."

"Humph !" rejoined the doctor. "There is noth
ing very alarming in his appearance. Have you
any objection to see him in my presence ?"

" If it be necessary," replied the old lady, " cer
tainly not."

" Then I think it is necessary," said the doctor ;
" at all events, I am quite sure that you would deep
ly regret not having done so if you postponed it.
He is perfectly quiet and comfortable now. Allow
me Miss Rose, will you permit me ? Not the slight
est fear, I pledge you my honor !"

CHAPTER XXX.

RELATES WHAT OLIVER'S NEW VISITORS THOUGHT OF
HIM.

WITH many loquacious assurances that they
would be agreeably surprised in the aspect of
the criminal, the doctor drew the young lady's arm
through one of his; and offering his disengaged
hand to Mrs. Maylie, led them, with much ceremony
and stateliness, up stairs.

" Now," said the doctor, in a whisper, as he softly
turned the handle of the bedroom-door, " let us hear
what you think of him. He has not been shaved
very recently, but he don't look at all ferocious, not
withstanding. Stop, though ! Let me first see that
he is in visiting-order."

Stepping before them, he looked into the room.
Motioning them to advance, he closed the door when
they had entered, and gently drew back the cur
tains of the bed. Upon it, in lieu of the dogged,
black-visaged ruffian they had expected to behold,
there lay a mere child : worn with pain and exhaus
tion, and sunk into a deep sleep. His wounded arm,
bound and splintered up, was crossed iipou his breast ;
his head reclined upon the oth,er arm, which was half
hidden by his long hair, as it streamed over the pillow.

The honest gentleman held the curtain in his
hand, and looked on for a minute or so in silence.
While he was watching the patient thus, the younger
lady glided softly past, and seating herself in a chair
by the bedside, gathered Oliver's hair from his face.
As she stooped over him, her tears fell upon his fore
head.

The boy stirred, and smiled in his sleep, as though
these marks of pity and compassion had awakened
some pleasant dream of a love and affection he had
never known. Thus, a strain of gentle music, or the
rippling of water in a silent place, or the odor of a
flower, or the mention of a familiar word, will some
times call up sudden dim remembrances of scenes
that never were, in this life ; which vanish like a
breath ; which some brief memory of a happier ex
istence, long gone by, would seem to have awakened ;
which no voluntary exertion of the mind can ever
recall.

THE DOCTOR PRESCRIBES.

" What can this mean f ' exclaimed the elder lady.
" This poor child can never have been the pupil of
robbers !"

" Vice," sighed the surgeon, replacing the curtain,
" takes up her abode in many temples ; and who can
say that a fair outside shall not enshrine her ?"

" But at so early an age !" urged Rose.

"My dear young lady," rejoined the surgeon,
mournfully shaking his head ; " crime, like death, is
not confined to the old and withered alone. The
youngest and fairest are too often its chosen vic
tims."

" But can you oh ! can you really believe that
this delicate boy has been the voluntary associate of
the worst outcasts of society?" said Rose.

The surgeon shook his head, in a manner which
intimated that he feared it was very possible ; and
observing that they might disturb the patient, led
the way into an adjoining apartment.

" But even if he has been wicked," pursued Rose,
"think how young he is; think that he may never
have known a mother's love, or the comfort of a
home ; that ill-usage and blows, or the want of bread,
may have driven him to herd with men who have
forced him to guilt. Aunt, dear aunt, for mercy's
sake, think of this, before you let them drag this
sick child to a prison, which in any case must be the
grave of all his chances of amendment. Oh ! as you
love me, and know that I have never felt the want
of parents in your goodness and affection, but that
I might have done so, and might have been equally
helpless and unprotected with this poor child, have
pity upon him before it is too late !"

" My dear love," said the elder lady, as she folded
the weeping girl to her bosom, "do you think I
would harm a hair of his head f

" Oh, no !" replied Rose, eagerly.

"No, surely," said the old lady; "my days are
drawing to their close ; and may mercy be shown to
me as I show it to others ! What can I do to save
him, sir ?"

" Let me think, ma'am," said the doctor ; " let me
think."

Mr. Losberne thrust his hands into his pockets,
and took several turns up and down the room ; often
stopping, and balancing himself on his toes, and
frowning frightfully. After various exclamations
of "I've got it now," and "no, I haven't," and as
many renewals of the walking and frowning, he at
length made a dead halt, and spoke as follows :

" I think if you give me a full and unlimited com
mission to bully Giles, and that little boy Brittles, I
can manage it. Giles is a faithful fellow and an old
servant, I know ; but you can make it up to him in
a thousand ways, and reward him for being such a
good shot besides. You don't object to that ?"

" Unless there is some other way of preserving the
child," replied Mrs. Maylie.

" There is no other," said the doctor. " No other,
take my word for it."

" Then my aunt invests you with full power," said
Rose, smiling through her tears ; " but pray don't be
harder upon the poor fellows than is indispensably
necessary. 7 '

" You seem to think," retorted the doctor, " that
every body is disposed to be hard-hearted to-day, ex

cept yourself, Miss Rose. I only hope, for the sake
of the rising male sex generally, that you may be
found in as vulnerable and soft-hearted a mood by
the first eligible young fellow who appeals to your
compassion ; and I wish I were a young fellow, that
I might avail myself on the spot of such a favora
ble opportunity for doing so as the present."

" You are as great a boy as poor Brittles himself,"
returned Rose, blushing.

" Well," said the doctor, laughing heartily, " that
is no very difficult matter. But to return to this
boy. The great point of our agreement is yet to
come. He will wake in an hour or so, I dare say ;
and although I have told that thick-headed consta
ble fellow down stairs that he mustn't be moved or
spoken to, on peril of his life, I think we may con
verse with him without danger. Now I make this
stipulation that I shall examine him in your pres
ence, and that if, from what he says, we judge, and I
can show to the satisfaction of your cool reason, that
he is a real and thorough bad one (which is more
than possible), he shall be left to his fate, without
any further interference on my part, at all events."

" Oh no, aunt !" entreated Rose.

" Oh yes, aunt !" said the doctor. " Is it a bar
gain!"

" He can not be hardened in vice," said Rose. " It
is impossible."

" Very good," retorted the doctor ; " then so much
the more reason for acceding to my proposition."

Finally the treaty was entered into ; and the par
ties thereunto sat down to wait, with some impa
tience, until Oliver should awake.

The patience of the two ladies was destined to un
dergo a longer trial than Mr. Losberne had led them
to expect ; for hour after hour passed on, and still
Oliver slumbered heavily. It was evening, indeed,
before the kind-hearted doctor brought them the in
telligence that he was at length sufficiently restored
to be spoken to. The boy was very ill, he said, and
weak from the loss of blood ; but his mind was so
troubled with anxiety to disclose something, that he
deemed it better to give him the opportunity, than
to insist upon his remaining quiet until next morn
ing, which he should otherwise have done.

The conference was a long one. Oliver told them
all his simple history, and was often compelled to
stop, by pain and want of strength. It was a sol
emn thing to hear, in the darkened room, the feeble
voice of the sick child recounting a weary catalogue
of evils and calamities which hard men had brought
upon him. Oh ! if when we oppress and grind our
fellow-creatures, we bestowed but one thought on
the dark evidences of human error, which, like dense
and heavy clouds, are rising, slowly, it is true, but
not less surely, to Heaven, to pour their after-ven
geance on our heads ; if we heard but one instant,
in imagination, the deep testimony of dead men's
voices, which no power can stifle, and no pride shut
out ; where would be the injury and injustice, the
suffering, misery, cruelty, and wrong, that each day's
life brings with it !

Oliver's pillow was smoothed by gentle hands that
night; and loveliness and virtue watched him ;is In-
slept. He felt calm and happy, and could have died
without a murmur.

OLIVER TWIST.

The momentous interview was no sooner concluded,
and Oliver composed to rest again, than the doctor,
after wiping his eyes, and condemning them for be
ing weak all at once, betook himself down stairs to
open upon Mr. Giles. And finding nobody about
the parlors, it occurred to him that he could perhaps
originate the proceedings with better effect in the
kitchen ; so into the kitchen he went.

There were assembled, in that lower house of the
domestic Parliament, the women-servants, Mr. Brit-
ties, Mr. Giles, the tinker (who had received a special
invitation to regale himself for the remainder of the
day, in consideration of his services), and the consta
ble. The latter gentleman had a large staff, a large
head, large features, and large half-boots ; and he
looked as if he had been taking a proportionate al
lowance of ale as indeed he had.

The adventures of the previous night were still
under discussion ; for Mr. Giles was expatiating upon
his presence of iniud, when the doctor entered ; Mr.
Brittles, with a mug of ale in his hand, was corrob
orating every thing, before his superior said it.

" Sit still !" said the doctor, waving his hand.

" Thank you, sir," said Mr. Giles. " Misses wished
some ale to be given out, sir ; and as I felt no ways
inclined for my own little room, sir, and was disposed
for company, I am taking mine among 'em here."

Brittles headed a low murmur, by which the la
dies and gentlemen generally were understood to ex
press the gratification they derived from Mr. Giles's
condescension. Mr. Giles looked round with a pat
ronizing air, as much as to say that, so long as they
behaved properly, he would never desert them.

" How is the patient to-night, sir ?" asked Giles.

" So-so ;" returned the doctor. " I am afraid you
have got yourself into a scrape there, Mr. Giles."

" I hope you don't mean to say, sir," said Mr.
Giles, trembling, "that he's going to die. If I
thought it, I should never be happy again. I wouldn't
cut a boy off no, not even Brittles here not for all
the plate in the county, sir."

" That's not the point," said the doctor, mysterious
ly. " Mr. Giles, are you a Protestant f '

" Yes, sir, I hope so," faltered Mr. Giles, who had
turned very pale.

"And what are you, boy?" said the doctor, turning
sharply upon Brittles.

" Lord bless me, sir !" replied Brittles, starting vio
lently ; " I'm the same as Mr. Giles, sir."

"Then tell me this," said the doctor, "both of
you, both of yon ! Are you going to take upon your
selves to swear that that boy up stairs is the boy
that was put through the little window last night ?
Out with it ! Come ! We are prepared for you !"

The doctor, who was universally considered one
of the best-tempered creatures on earth, made this
demand in such a dreadful tone of anger, that Giles
and Brittles, who were considerably muddled by ale
and excitement, stared at each other in a state of
stupefaction.

" Pay attention to the reply, constable, will you ?"
said the doctor, shaking his forefinger with great
solemnity of manner, and tapping the bridge of his
nose with it, to bespeak the exercise of that worthy's
utmost acuteness. " Something may come of this
before long."

The constable looked as wise as he could, and took
up his staff of office, which had been reclining indo
lently in the chimney-corner.

" It's a simple question of identity, you will ob
serve," said the doctor.

"That's what it is, sir," replied the constable,
coughing with great violence; for he had finished
his ale in a hurry, and some of it had gone the wrong
way.

" Here's a house broken into," said the doctor,
".and a couple of men catch one moment's glimpse
of a boy, in the midst of gunpowder-smoke, and in
all the distraction of alarm and darkness. Here's a
boy comes to that very same house next morning,
and because he happens to have his arm tied up,
these men lay violent hands upon him by doing
which, they place his life in great danger and
s\.'ear he is the thief. Now the question is, whether
these men are justified by the fact ; if not, in what
situation do they place themselves ?"

The constable nodded profoundly. He said, if
that wasn't law, he would be glad to know what
was.

" I ask you again," thundered the doctor, " are
you, on your solemn oaths, able to identify that
boy ?"

Brittles looked doubtfully at Mr. Giles ; Mr. Giles
looked doubtfully at Brittles; the constable put his
hand behind his ear to catch the reply ; the two
women and the tinker leaned forward to listen ; the
doctor glanced keenly round ; when a ring was heard
at the gate, and at the same moment the sound of
wheels.

" It's the runners !" cried Brittles, to all appearance
much relieved.

" The what ?" exclaimed the doctor, aghast, in his
turn.

"The Bow Street officers, sir," replied Brittles,
taking up a candle ; " me and Mr. Giles sent for 'em
this morning."

" What ?" cried the doctor.

"Yes," replied Brittles; "I sent a message up by
the coachman, and I only wonder they weren't here
before, sir."

" You did, did you ? Then confound your slow
coaches down here ; that's all," said the doctor, walk
ing away.

CHAPTER XXXI.

INVOLVES A CRITICAL POSITION.

" TTTHO'S that ?" inquired Brittles, opening the

V V door a little way w r ith the chain up, and peep
ing out, shading the candle with his hand.

" Open the door," replied a man outside ; " it's the
officers from Bow Street as was sent to to-day."

Much comforted by this assurance, Brittles opeued
the door to its full width and confronted a portly
man in a great-coat, who walked in without saying
any thing more, and wiped his shoes on the mat as
coolly as if he lived there.

" Just send somebody out to relieve my mate, will
you, young man ?" said the officer ; " he's in the gig,
a-miiiding the prad. Have you got a coach-'us here
that you could put it up in for five or ten minutes f '

TUE BOW STREET OFFICERS.

Brittles replying in the affirmative, and pointing
out the building, the portly man stepped back to the
garden-gate and helped his companion to put up the
gig, while Brittles lighted them, in a state of great
admiration. This done, they returned to the house,
and, being shown into a parlor, took off their great
coats and hats, and showed like what they were.

The man who had knocked at the door was a stout
personage of middle height, aged about fifty, with
shiny black hair cropped pretty close, half-whiskers,
a round face, and sharp eyes. The other was a red
headed, bony man in top-boots, with a rather ill-fa
vored countenance, and a turned -up, sinister -look
ing nose.

" Tell your governor that Blathers and Duff Is here,

several muscular affections of the limbs, and forced
the head of his stick into his mouth, with some em
barrassment.

" Now, with regard to this here robbery, master,"
said Blathers. " What are the circumstances ?"

Mr. Losberne, who appeared desirous of gaining
time, recounted them at great length, and with much
circumlocution. Messrs. Blathers and Duff looked
very knowing meanwhile, and occasionally ex
changed a nod.

"I can't say for certain till I see the work, of
course," said Blathers ; " but my opinion at once is
I don't mind committing myself to that extent
that this wasn't done by a yokel eh, Duff?"

" Certainly not," replied Duff.

"JUST SEMD SOMEBODY OUT TO BELIEVE MY MATE, WILL YOU, YOUNG MAS f ''

will you?" said the stouter man, smoothing down
hi.s hair, and laying a pair of handcuffs on the table.
" Oh ! good-evening, master. Can I have a word or
two with you in private, if you please ?"

This was addressed to Mr. Losberne, who now
made his appearance ; that gentleman, motioning
Brittles to retire, brought in the two ladies and shut
the, door.

" This is the lady of the house," said Mr. Losberne,
motioning toward Mrs. Maylie.

Mr. Blathers made a bow. Being desired to sit
down, he put his hat on the floor, and, taking a chair,
motioned Duff to do the same. The latter gentle
man, who did not appear quite so much accustomed
to good society, or quite so much at his ease in it
one of the two seated himself, after undergoing

"And translating the word yokel for the benefit
of the ladies, I apprehend your meaning to be, that
this attempt was not made by a countryman ?" said
Mr. Losberne, with a smile.

" That's it, master," replied Blathers. " This is all
about the robbery, is it ?"

"All," replied the doctor.

" Now, what is this about this here boy that the
servants are a-talking on ?" said Blathers.

" Nothing at all," replied the doctor. " One of the
frightened servants chose to take it into his head
that he had something to do with this attempt to
break into the house; but it's nonsense, sheer ab
surdity."

"Wery easy disposed of, if it is," remarked Duff.

"What he says is quite correct," observed Blath-

OLIVER TWIST.

ers, nodding his head in a confirmatory way, and
playing carelessly with the handcuffs as if they were
a pair of castanets. " Who is the boy ? What ac
count does he give of himself ? Where did he come
from? He didn't drop out of the clouds, did he,
master ?"

" Of course not," replied the doctor, with a nerv
ous glance at the two ladies. " I know his whole
history ; hut we can talk about that presently. You
would like first to see the place where the thieves
made their attempt, I suppose ?"

"Certainly," rejoined Mr. Blathers. "We had
better inspect the premises first, and examine the
servants arterward. That's the usual way of doing
business."

Lights were then procured ; and Messrs. Blathers
and Duff, attended by the native constable, Brittles,
Giles, and every body else, in short, went into the lit-
cle room at the end of the passage and looked out at
the Avindow, and afterward went round by way of
the lawn and looked in at the window; and after
that, had a caudle handed out to inspect the shutter
with ; and after that, a lantern to trace the footsteps
with ; and after that, a pitchfork to poke the bushes
with. This done, amidst the breathless interest of
all beholders, they came in again; and Mr. Giles
and Brittles were put through a melodramatic repre
sentation of their share in the previous night's ad
ventures, which they performed some six times over,
contradicting each other in not more than one im
portant respect the first time, and in not more than
a dozen the last. This consummation being arrived
at, Blathers and Duff cleared the room and held a
long council together, compared with which, for se
crecy and solemnity, a consultation of great doctors
on the knottiest point in medicine would be mere
child's play.

Meanwhile, the doctor walked up and down the
next room in a very uneasy state, and Mrs. Maylie
and Rose looked on with anxious faces.

" Upon my word," he said, making a halt after a
great number of very rapid turns, " I hardly know
what to do."

" Surely," said Eose, " the poor child's story, faith
fully repeated to these men, will be sufficient to ex
onerate him."

" I doubt it, my dear young lady," said the doctor,
shaking his head. " I don't think it would exoner
ate him, either with them or with legal functionaries
of a higher grade. What is he, after all, they would
say ? A runaway. Judged by mere worldly con
siderations and probabilities, his story is a very
doubtful one."

" You believe it, surely ?" interrupted Rose.

" / believe it, strange as it is ; and perhaps I may
be an old fool for doing so," rejoined the doctor;
" but I don't think it is exactly the tale for a prac
ticed police officer, nevertheless."

" Why not ?" demanded Rose.

" Because, my pretty cross-examiner," replied the
doctor, " because, viewed with their eyes, there are
many ugly points about it ; he can only prove the
parts that look ill, and none of those that look well.
Confound the fellows, they will have the why and
the wherefore, and will take nothing for granted.
On his own showing, you see, he has been the com

panion of thieves for some time past ; he has been
carried to a police-office on a charge of picking a
gentleman's pocket ; he has been taken away forci
bly from that gentleman's house to a place which he
can not describe or point out, and of the situation of
which he has not the remotest idea. He is brought
down to Chertsey by men who seem to have taken
a violent fancy to him, whether he will or no, and is
put through a window to rob a house; and then,
just at the very moment when he is going to alarm
the inmates, and so do the very thing that would set
him all to rights, there rushes into the way a blun
dering dog of a half-bred butler and shoots him ! As
if on purpose to prevent his doing any good for him
self! Don't you see all this ?"

" I see it, of course," replied Rose, smiling at the
doctor's impetuosity; "but still I do not see any
thing in it to criminate the poor child."

" No," replied the doctor ; " of course not ! Bless
the bright eyes of your sex ! They never see, wheth
er for good or bad, more than one side of any ques
tion ; and that is always the one which first presents
itself to them."

Having given vent to this result of experience, the
doctor put his hands into his pockets, and Avalkod up
and down the room with even greater rapidity than
before.

" The more I think of it," said the doctor, " the
more I see that it will occasion endless trouble and
difficulty if we put these men in possession of the
boy's real story. I am certain it will not be be
lieved ; and even if they can do nothing to him in
the end, still the dragging it forward, and giving
publicity to all the doubts that will be cast upon it,
must interfere materially with your benevolent plan
of rescuing him from misery."

"Oh! what is to be done?" cried Rose. "Dear,
dear ! why did they send for these people ?"

" Why, indeed !" exclaimed Mrs. Maylie. " I would
not have had them here for the world."

"All I know is," said Mr. Losbeme, at last sitting
down with a kind of desperate calmness, " that we
must try and carry it oif with a bold face. The ob
ject is a good one, and that must be our excuse.
The boy has strong symptoms of fever upon him, and
is in no condition to be talked to any more ; that's
one comfort. We must make the best of it ; and if
bad be the best, it is no fault of ours. Come in !"

" Well, master," said Blathers, entering the room,
followed by his colleague, and making the door fast
before he said any more. "This warn't a put-up
thing."

"And what the devil's a put-up thing?" demanded
the doctor, impatiently.

" We call it a put-up robbery, ladies," said Blath
ers, turning to them, as if he pitied their ignorance,
but had a contempt for the doctor's, " when the serv
ants is in it."

" Nobody suspected them in this case," said Mrs.
Maylie.

" Wery likely not, ma'am," replied Blathers ; " but
they might have been in it, for all that."

" More likely on that wery account," said Duff.

" We find it was a town hand," said Blathers, con
tinuing his report; "for the style of work is first-
rate."

SPYERS AND CHICKWEED.

" Wery pretty iudeed it is," remarked Daft', in an
uuder-tone.

' There was two of 'em in it," continued Blathers ;
" and they had a boy with 'em ; that's plain from the
size of the window. That's all to be said at present.
We'll see this lad that you've got up stairs at once,
if you please."

" Perhaps they will take something to drink, first,
Mrs. Maylie f ' said the doctor, his face brightening
as if some new thought had occurred to him.

" Oh ! to be sure !" exclaimed Rose, eagerly. " You
shall have it immediately, if you will."

" Why, thank you, miss !" said Blathers, drawing
his coat-sleeve across his mouth; "it's dry work,
this sort of duty. Any thing that's handy, miss;
don't put yourself out of the way on our accounts."

" What shall it be ?" asked the doctor, following
the young lady to the sideboard.

"A little drop of spirits, master, if it's all the
same," replied Blathers. " It's a cold ride from Lon
don, ma'am ; and I always find that spirits comes
home warmer to the feelings."

This interesting communication was addressed to
Mrs. Maylie, who received it very graciously. While
it was being conveyed to her, the doctor slipped out
of the room.

Ah!" said Mr. Blathers; not holding his wine
glass by the stem, but grasping the bottom between
the thumb and forefinger of his left hand, and plac
ing it in front of his chest ; " I have seen a good
many pieces of business like this in my time, ladies."

" That crack down in the back lane at Edmonton,
Blathers," said Mr. Duff, assisting his colleague's
memory.

" That was something in this way, warn't it ?" re
joined Mr. Blathers; "that was done by Conkey
duckweed, that was."

" You always gave that to him," replied Duff. " It
was the Family Pet, I tell you. Conkey hadn't any
more to do with it than I had."

" Get out !" retorted Mr. Blathers ; " I know better.
Do you mind that time when Conkey was robbed of
his money, though ? What a start that was ! Bet
ter than any novel-book / ever see !"

" What was that ?" inquired Rose : anxious to en
courage any symptoms of good-humor in the unwel
come visitors.

" It was a robbery, miss, that hardly any body
would have been down upon," said Blathers. " This
here Conkey Chickweed "

" Coukey means Nosey, ma'am," interposed Duff.

" Of course the lady knows that, don't she ?" de
manded Mr. Blathers. "Always interrupting, you
are, partner ! This here Conkey Chickweed, miss,
kept a public-house over Battlebridge way, and he
had a cellar, where a good many young lords went
to see cock-fighting, and badger-drawing, and that ;
and a wery intellectual manner the sports was con
ducted in, for I've seen 'em off'eu. He warn't one of
the family at that time ; and one night he was rob-
bed of three hundred and twenty-seven guineas in a
canvas bag, that was stole out of his bedroom in the
dead of night, by a tall man with a black patch over
his eye, who had concealed himself under the bed,
and after committing the robbery, jumped slap out
of window, which was only a storv high. He was
G

wery quick about it. But Conkey was quick, too ;
for he was woke by the noise, and darting out of
bed, he fired a blunderbuss arter him, and roused the
neighborhood. They set up a hue-aud-cry directly,
and when they came to look about 'em, found that
Conkey had hit the robber ; for there was traces of
blood all the way to some palings a good distance
off ; and there they lost 'em. However, he had made
off with the blunt ; and, consequently, the name of
Mr. Chickweed, licensed witler, appeared in the Ga
zette among the other bankrupts ; and all manner of
benefits and subscriptions, and I don't know what
all, was got up for the poor man, who was in a wery
low state of mind about his loss, and went up and
down the streets, for three or four days, a pulling
his hair off in such a desperate manner that many
people was afraid he might be going to make away
with himself. One day he come up to the office, all
in a hurry, and had a private interview with the
magistrate, who, after a deal of talk, rings the bell,
and orders Jem Spyers in (Jem was a active officer),
and tells him to go and assist Mr. Chickweed in ap
prehending the man as robbed his house. 'I see
him, Spyers,' said Chickweed, 'pass my house yes
terday morning.' 'Why didn't you up, and collar
him ?' says Spyers. ' I was so struck all of a heap,
that you might have fractured my skull with a tooth
pick,' says the poor man; 'but we're sure to have
him ; for between ten and eleven o'clock at night he
passed again.' Spyers no sooner heard this than he
put some clean linen and a comb in his pocket, in
case he should have to stop a day or two ; and away
he goes, and sets himself down at one of the public-
house windows behind the little red curtain, with
his hat on, all ready to bolt out at a moment's no
tice. He was smoking his pipe here, late at night,
when all of a sudden Chickweed roars out ' Here he
is! Stop thief ! Murder!' Jem Spyers dashes out ;
and there he sees Chickweed, a -tearing down the
street full cry. Away goes Spyers ; on goes Chick-
weed ; round turns the people ; every body roars out,
' Thieves !' and Chickweed himself keeps on shouting,
all the time, like mad. Spyers loses sight of him a
minute as he turns a corner ; shoots round ; sees a lit
tle crowd ; dives in ; ' Which is the man ?' ' D me !'
says Chickweed, ' I've lost him again !' It was a re
markable occurrence, but he warn't to be seen no
where, so they went back to the public-house. Next
morning, Spyers took his old place, and looked out
from behind the curtain for a tall man with a black
patch over his eye, till his own two eyes ached again.
At last he couldn't help shutting 'em, to ease 'em a
minute ; and the very moment he did so, he hears
Chickweed a-roaring out, ' Here he is !' Off he starts
once more, with Chickweed half way down the street
ahead of him ; and after twice as long a run as the
yesterday's one, the man's lost again! This was
done, once or twice more, till one-half the neighbors
gave out that Mr. Chickweed had been robbed by
the devil, who was playing tricks with him arter-
ward ; and the other half, that poor Mr. Chickweed
had gone mad with grief."

" What did Jem Spyers say ?" inquired the doctor ;
who had returned to the room shortly after the com
mencement of the story.

"Jem Spyers," resumed the officer, "for a long

OLIVER TWIST.

time said nothing at all, and listened to every thing
without seeming to, which showed he understood his
business. But, one morning, he walked into the bar,
and taking out his snuff-box, says, ' Chickweed, I've
found out who done this here robbery.' ' Have you ?'
said Chickweed. ' Oh, my dear Spyers, only let me
have wengeauce, and I shall die contented ! Oh, my
dear Spyers, where is the villain !' ' Come !' said Spy
ers, offering him a pinch of snuff, ' none of that gam
mon ! You did it yourself.' So he had ; and a good
bit of money he had made by it, too ; and nobody
would never have found it out, if he hadn't been so
precious anxious to keep up appearances," said Mr.
Blathers, putting down his wine-glass, and clinking
the handcuffs together.

" Very curious, indeed," observed the doctor.
" Now, if you please, you can walk up stairs."

" If you please, sir," returned Mr. Blathers. Close
ly following Mr. Losberue, the two officers ascended
to Oliver's bedroom ; Mr. Giles preceding the party
with a lighted caudle.

Oliver had been dozing ; but looked worse, and
was more feverish than he had appeared yet. Being
assisted by the doctor, he managed to sit up in bed
for a minute or so ; and looked at the strangers with
out at all understanding what was going forward
in fact, without seeming to recollect where he was,
or what had been passing.

" This," said Mr. Losberne, speaking softly, but
with great vehemence notwithstanding, " this is the
lad, who, being accidentally wounded by a spring-
gun in some boyish trespass on Mr. What-d'ye-call-
him's grounds at the back here, comes to the house
for assistance this morning, and is immediately laid
hold of and maltreated by that ingenious gentleman
with the candle in his hand, who has placed his life
in considerable danger, as I can professionally cer
tify."

Messrs. Blathers and Duff looked at Mr. Giles, as he
was thus recommended to their notice. The bewil
dered butler gazed from them toward Oliver, and
from Oliver toward Mr. Losberne, with a most ludi
crous mixture of fear and perplexity.

" You don't mean to deny that, I suppose ?" said
the doctor, laying Oliver gently down again.

" It was all done for the for the best, sir," an
swered Giles. " I am sure I thought it was the boy,
or I wouldn't have meddled with him. I am not of
an inhuman disposition, sir."

" Thought it was what boy ?" inquired the senior
officer.

"The house-breaker's boy, sir!" replied Giles.
" They they certainly had a boy."

" Well ? Do you think so now ?" inquired Blath-
. ers.

" Think what, now ?" replied Giles, looking vacant
ly at his questioner.

" Think it's the same boy, Stupid-head ?" rejoined
Blathers, impatiently.

'' 1 don't know ; I really don't know," said Giles,
with a rueful countenance. '' I couldn't swear to
him."

" What do you think'?" asked Mr. Blathers.

" I don't know what to think," replied poor Giles.
" I don't think it is the boy ; indeed, I'm almost cer
tain that it isn't. You know it can't be."

" Has this man been a-drinkiug, sir ?" inquired
Blathers, turning to the doctor.

" What a precious muddle-headed chap you are !"
said Duff, addressing Mr. Giles, with supreme con
tempt.

Mr. Losberne had been feeling the patient's pulse
during this short dialogue ; but he now rose from the
chair by the bedside, and remarked, that if the offi
cers had any doubts upon the subject, they would
perhaps like to step into the next room, and have
Brittles before them.

Acting upon this suggestion, they adjourned to a
neighboring apartment, where Mr. Brittles, being
called in, involved himself and his respected superior
in such a wonderful maze of fresh contradictions and
impossibilities as tended to throw no particular light
on any thing but the fact of his own strong mysti
fication; except, indeed, his declarations that he
shouldn't know the real boy if he were put before
him that instant ; that he had only taken Oliver to
be he, because Mr. Giles had said he was ; and that
Mr. Giles had, five minutes previously, admitted in
the kitchen that he began to be very much afraid he
had been a little too hasty.

Among other ingenious surmises, the question was
then raised, whether Mr. Giles had really hit any
body ; and upon examination of the fellow pistol to
that which he had fired, it turned out to have no
more destructive loading than gunpowder and brown
paper : a discovery which made a considerable im
pression on every body but the doctor, who had drawn
the ball about ten minutes before. Upon no one, how
ever, did it make a greater impression than on Mr.
Giles himself; who, after laboring, for some hours,
under the fear of having mortally wounded a fellow-
creature, eagerly caught at this new idea, and favored
it to the utmost. Finally, the officers, without trou
bling themselves very much about Oliver, left the
Chertsey constable in the house, and took up their
rest for that night in the town, promising to return
next morning.

With the next morning, there came a rumor that
two men and a boy were in the cage at Kingston,
who had been apprehended overnight under suspi
cious circumstances ; and to Kingston Messrs. Blathers
and Duff journeyed accordingly. The suspicious cir
cumstances, however, resolving themselves, on inves
tigation, into the one fact, that they had been dis
covered sleeping under a hay-stack ; which, although
a great crime, is only punishable by imprisonment,
and is, in the merciful eye of the English law, and its
comprehensive love of all the king's subjects, held to
be no satisfactory proof, in the absence of all other
evidence, that the sleeper, or sleepers, have committed
burglary accompanied with violence, and have there
fore rendered themselves liable to the punishment of
death ; Messrs. Blathers and Duff came back again,
as wise as they went.

In short, after some more examination, and a great
deal more conversation, a neighboring magistrate
was readily induced to take the joint bail of Mrs.
Maylie and Mr. Losberne for Oliver's appearance if
he should ever be called upon ; and Blathers and
Duff, being rewarded with a couple of guineas, re
turned to town with divided opinions on the subject
of their expedition : the latter gentleman, oil a ma-

A FALSE ALARM.

ture consideration of all the circumstances, inclining
to the belief that the burglarious attempt had origi
nated with the Family Pet ; and the former being
equally disposed to concede the full merit of it to the
great Mr. Conkey Chickweed.

Meanwhile, Oliver gradually throve and prospered
under the united care of Mrs. Maylie, Rose, and the
kind-hearted Mr. Losberue. If fervent prayers, gush
ing from hearts overcharged with gratitude, be heard
in heaven and if they be not, what prayers are !
the blessings which the orphan child called down
upon them sunk into their souls, diffusing peace and
happiness.

CHAPTER XXXII.

OF THE HAPPY LIFE OLIVER BEGAN TO LEAD WITH HIS
KIND FRIENDS.

OLIVER'S ailings were neither slight nor few. In
addition to the pain and delay attendant on a
broken limb, his exposure to the wet and cold had
brought on fever and ague ; which hung about him
for many weeks, and reduced him sadly. But at
length he began, by slow degrees, to get better, and
to be able to say, sometimes, in a few tearful words,
how deeply he felt the goodness of the two sweet la
dies, and how ardently he hoped that when he grew
strong and well again, he could do something to
show his gratitude : only something which would let
them see the love and duty with which his breast
was full ; something, however slight, which would
prove to them that their gentle kindness had not
been cast away ; but that the poor boy whom their
charity had rescued from misery or death was eager
to serve them with his whole heart and soul.

" Poor fellow !" said Rose, when Oliver had been
one day feebly endeavoring to utter the words of
thankfulness that rose to his pale lips ; " you shall
have many opportunities of serving us, if you will.
We are going into the country, and my aunt intends
that you shall accompany us. The quiet place, the
pure air, and all the pleastires and beauties of spring,
will restore you in a few days. We will employ you
in a hundred ways, when you can bear the trouble."

" The trouble !" cried Oliver. " Oh ! dear lady, if
I could but work for you ; if I could only give you
pleasure by watering your flowers, or watching your
birds, or running up and down the whole day long,
to make you happy ; what would I give to do it !"

" You shall give nothing at all," said Miss Maylie,
smiling ; " for, as I told yon before, we shall employ
you in a hundred ways ; and if you only take half
the trouble to please us that you promise now, you
will make me very happy indeed."

" Happy, ma'am !" cried Oliver ; " how kind of you
to s;iy so!"

" You will make me happier than I can tell you,"
replied the young lady. "To think that my dear
good aunt should have been the means of rescuing
any one from such sad misery as you have described
to us, would be an unspeakable pleasure to me ; but
to know that the object of her goodness and com
passion was sincerely grateful and attached in con
sequence, would delight me more than you can well

imagine. Do you understand me ?" she inquired,
watching Oliver's thoughtful face.

"Oh yes, ma'am, yes !" replied Oliver, eagerly; "but
I was thinking that I am ungrateful now."

" To whom f ' inquired the young lady.

" To the kind gentleman and the dear old nurse
who took so much care of me before," rejoined Oli
ver. " If they knew how happy I am, they would
be pleased, I am sure."

" I am sure they would," rejoined Oliver's bene
factress; "and Mr. Losberne has already been kind
enough to promise that when you are well enough
to bear the journey, he will carry you to see them."

" Has he, ma'am ?" cried Oliver, his face brighten
ing with pleasure. " I don't know what I shall do
for joy when I see their kind faces once again."

In a short time Oliver was sufficiently recovered to
undergo the fatigue of this expedition. One morn
ing he and Mr. Losberne set out, accordingly, in a lit
tle carriage which belonged to Mrs. Maylie. When
they came to Chertsey Bridge, Oliver turned very
pale, and uttered a loud exclamation.

" What's the matter with the boy ?" cried the doc
tor ; as usual, all in a bustle. " Do you see any thing
hear any thing feel any thing eh ?"

" That, sir," cried Oliver, pointing out of the car
riage window. " That house !"

" Yes ; well, what of it ? Stop, coachman. Pull
up here," cried the doctor. " W T hat of the house, my
man ; eh ?"

" The thieves the house they took me to !" whis
pered Oliver.

"The devil it is!" cried the doctor. "Halloo,
there ! let me out !"

But, before the coachman could dismount from his
box, he had tumbled out of the coach by some means
or other ; and, running down to the deserted tene
ment, began kicking at the door like a madman.

"Halloo!" said a little ugly humpbacked man,
opening the door so suddenly that the doctor, from
the very impetus of his last kick, nearly fell forward
into the passage. " What's the matter here ?"

" Matter!" exclaimed the other, collaring him, with
out a moment's reflection. "A good deal. Robbery
is the matter."

" There'll be murder the matter, too," replied the
humpbacked man, coolly, "if you don't take your
hands off. Do you hear me ?"

" I hear you," said the doctor, giving his captive
a hearty shake. "Where's confound the fellow,
what's his rascally name ? Sikes ; that's it. Where's
Sikes, you thief?"

The humpbacked man stared, as if in excess of
amazement and indignation ; then twisting himself
dexterously from the doctor's grasp, growled forth a
volley of horrid oaths, and retired into the house.
Before he could shut the door, however, the doctor
had passed into the parlor without a word of parley.
He looked anxiously round ; not an article of furni
ture ; not a vestige of any thing, animate or inani
mate not even the position of the cupboards, an
swered Oliver's description.

" Now !" said the humpbacked man, who had watch
ed him keenly, "what do you mean by coming into
my house in this violent way ? Do you want to
rob me, or to murder me ? Which is it ?"

100

OLIVER TWIST.

" Did you ever know a man come out to do either
in a chariot and pair, you ridiculous old vampire I"
said the irritable doctor.

" What do you want, then ?" demanded the hunch
back. " Will you take yourself off before I do you
a mischief ? Curse you!"

"As soon as I think proper," said Mr. Losberne,
looking into the other parlor ; which, like the first,
bore no resemblance whatever to Oliver's account
of it. " I shall find you out some day, my friend."

" Will you ?" sneered the ill-favored cripple. " If
you ever want me, I'm here. I haven't lived here
mad and all alone for five-and-twenty years, to be
scared by you. You shall pay for this; you shall
pay for this." And so saying, the misshapen little
demon set up a yell, and danced upon the ground as
if wild with rage.

" Stupid enough, this!" muttered the doctor to him
self; "the boy must have made a mistake. Here!
Put that in your pocket, and shut yourself up again."
With these words he flung the hunchback a piece of
money, and returned to the carriage.

The man followed to the chariot door, uttering the
wildest imprecations and curses all the way ; but as
Mr. Losberne turned to speak to the driver, he looked
into the carriage, and eyed Oliver for an instant with
a glance so sharp and fierce, and at the same time so
furious and vindictive, that, waking or sleeping, he
could not forget it for months afterward. He con
tinued to utter the most fearful imprecations, until
the driver had resumed his seat ; and when they were
once more on their way, they could see him some dis
tance behind, beating his feet upon the ground and
tearing his hair, in transports of real or pretended rage.

" I am an ass !" said the doctor, after a long silence.
" Did you know that before, Oliver ?"

"No, sir."

" Then don't forget it another tune."

"An ass," said the doctor again, after a further si
lence of some minutes. " Even if it had been the
right place, and the right fellows had been there,
what could I have done single-handed? And if I
had had assistance, I see no good that I should have
done, except leading to my own exposure, and an
unavoidable statement of the manner in which I
have hushed up this business. That would have
served me right, though. I am always involving
myself in some scrape or other by acting on impulse.
It might have done me good."

Now the fact was, that the excellent doctor had
never acted upon any thing but impulse all through
his life, and it was no bad compliment to the nature
of the impulses which governed him, that, so far from
being involved in any peculiar troubles or misfor
tunes, he had the warmest respect and esteem of all
who knew him. If the truth must be told, he was a
little out of temper for a minute or two, at being
disappointed in procuring corroborative evidence of
Oliver's story, on the very first occasion on which he
had a chance of obtaining any. He soon came round
again, however ; and finding that Oliver's replies to
his questions were still as straightforward and con
sistent, and still delivered with as much apparent
sincerity and truth as they had ever been, he made
up his mind to attach full credence to them, from
that tune forth.

As Oliver knew the name of the street in which
Mr. Browulow resided, they were enabled to drive
straight thither. When the coach turned into it, his
heart beat so violently that he could scarcely draw
his breath.

" Now, my boy, which house is it ?" inquired Mr.
Losberne.

"That! That!" replied Oliver, pointing eagerly
out of the window. " The white house. Oh ! make
haste ! Pray, make haste ! I feel as if I should die ;
it makes me tremble so."

" Come, come !" said the good doctor, patting him
on the shoulder. " You will see them directly, and
they will be overjoyed to find you safe and well."

" Oh, I hope so !" cried Oliver. " They were so
good to me ; so very, very good to me !"

The coach rolled on. It stopped. No ; that was
the wrong house ; the next door. It went on a few
paces, and stopped again. Oliver looked up at the
windows, with tears of happy expectation coursing
dowu his face.

Alas ! the white house was empty, and there was
a bill in the window " To Let."

" Knock at the next door," cried Mr. Losberne, tak
ing Oliver's arm in his. "What has become of Mr.
Brownlow, who used to live in the adjoining house,
do you know ?"

The servant did not know, but would go and in
quire. She presently returned, and said that Mr.
Browulow had sold off his goods and gone to the
West Indies six weeks before. Oliver clasped his
hands, and sank feebly backward.

" Has his housekeeper gone, too ?" inquired Mr.
Losberne, after a moment's pause.

" Yes, sir," replied the servant. " The old gentle
man, the housekeeper, and a gentleman who was a
friend of Mr. Browulow's, all went together."

" Then turn toward home again," said Mr. Los
berne to the driver; "and don't stop to bait the
horses till you get out of this confounded London !"

" The book-stall keeper, sir ?" said Oliver. " I
know the way there. See him, pray, sir ! Do see
him!"

" My poor boy, this is disappointment enough for
one day," said the doctor. " Quite enough for both
of us. If we go to the book-stall keeper's, we shall
certainly find that he is dead, or has set his house on
fire, or run away. No ; home again straight !" And
in obedience to the doctor's impulse home they went.

This bitter disappointment caused Oliver much
sorrow and grief, even in the midst of his happiness ;
for he had pleased himself, many times -during his
illness, with thinking of all that Mr. Brownlow and
Mrs. Bedwin would say to him, and what delight it
would be to tell them how many long days and
nights he had passed in reflecting on what they had
done for him, and in bewailing his cmel separation
from them. The hope of eventually clearing him
self with them, too, and explaining how he had been
forced away, had buoyed him up, and sustained him,
under many of his recent trials ; and now, the idea
that they should have gone so far, and carried with
them the belief that he was an impostor and a rob
ber a belief which might remain uncontradicted to
his dying day was almost more than he could bear.

The circumstance occasioned no alteration, how-

THE BEAUTIES OF AN INLAND VILLAGE.

101

ever, in the behavior of his benefactors. After an
other fortnight, -when the fine warm weather had
fairly begun, and every tree and flower was putting
forth its young leaves and rich blossoms, they made
preparations for quitting the house at Chertsey for
some months. Sending the plate, which had so ex
cited Fagiu's cupidity, to the banker's ; and leaving
Giles and another servant in care of the house, they
departed to a cottage at some distance in the coun
try, and took Oliver with them.

Who can describe the pleasure and delight, the
peace of mind and soft tranquillity, the sickly boy
felt in the balmy air, and among the green hills and
rich woods of an inland village ! Who can tell how
scenes of peace and quietude sink into the minds
of pain-worn dwellers in close and noisy places,
and carry their own freshness deep into their jaded
hearts ! Men who have lived in crowded, pent-up
streets, through lives of toil, and who have never
wished for change ; men, to whom custom has indeed
been second nature, and who have come almost to
love each brick and stone that formed tho narrow
boundaries of their daily walks ; even they, with the
hand of death upon them, have been known to yearn
at last for one short glimpse of Nature's face ; and,
carried far from the scenes of their old pains and
pleasures, have seemed to pass at once into a new
state of being. Crawling forth from day to day, to
some green sunny spot, they have had such memories
wakened up within them by the sight of sky, and
hill and plain, and glistening water, that a foretaste
of heaven itself has soothed their quick decline, and
they have sunk into their tombs as peacefully as the
sun, whose setting they watched from their lonely
chamber window but a few hours before, faded from
their dim and feeble sight! The memories which
peaceful country scenes call up are not of this world,
nor of its thoughts and hopes. Their gentle in
fluence may teach us how to weave fresh garlands
for the graves of those we loved may purify our
thoughts, and bear down before it old enmity and
hatred ; but beneath all this there lingers, in the
least reflective mind, a vague and half-formed con
sciousness of having held such feelings long before,
in some remote and distant time, which calls up sol
emn thoughts of distant times to come, and bends
down pride and worldliness beneath it.

It was a lovely spot to which they repaired. Oli
ver, whose days had been spent among squalid crowds,
and in the midst of noise and brawling, seemed to
enter on a new existence there. The rose and hon
eysuckle clung to the cottage walls; the ivy crept
round the trunks of the trees ; and the garden-flow
ers perfumed the air with delicious odors. Hard by
was a little church-yard ; not crowded with tall un
sightly grave-stones, but full of humble mounds, cov
ered with fresh turf and moss : beneath which the
old people of the village lay at rest. Oliver often
wandered here ; and, thinking of the wretched grave
in which his mother lay, would sometimes sit him
down and sob unseen ; but when he raised his eyes
to the deep sky overhead, he would cease to think
of her as lying in the ground, and would weep for
her, sadly, but without pain.

It was a happy time. The days were peaceful and
serene; the nights brought with them neither fear

nor care ; no languishing in a wretched prison, or
associating with wretched men ; nothing but pleas
ant and happy thoughts. Every morning he went
to a white-headed old gentleman, who lived near the"
little church, who taught Mm to read better, and to
write ; and who spoke so kindly, and took such pains,
that Oliver could never try enough to please him.
Then he would walk with Mrs. Maylie and Rose, and
hear them talk of books ; or perhaps sit near them
in some shady place, and listen while the young
lady read, which he could have done until it grew
too dark to see the letters. Then he had his own
lesson for the next day to prepare ; and at this he
would work hard, in a little room which looked into
the garden, till evening came slowly on, when the
ladies would walk out again, and he with them ; list
ening with such pleasure to all they said; and so
happy, if they wanted a flower, that he could climb
to reach, or had forgotten any thing he could run to
fetch ; that he could never be quick enough about
it. When it became quite dark, and they returned
home, the young lady would sit down to the piano,
and play some pleasant air, or sing, in a low and gen
tle voice, some old song which it pleased her aunt to
hear. There would be no candles lighted at such
times as these ; and Oliver would sit by one of the
windows, listening to the sweet music in a perfect
rapture.

And when Sunday came, how differently the day
was spent, from any way in which he had ever spent
it yet ! and how happily too ; like all the other days
in that most happy time ! There was the little church
in the morning, with the green leaves fluttering at
the windows ; the birds singing without ; and the
sweet-smelling air stealing in at the low porch, and
filling the homely building with its fragrance. The
poor people were so neat and clean, and knelt so rev
erently in prayer, that it seemed a pleasure, not a
tedious duty, their assembling there together ; and
though the singing might be rude, it was real, and
sounded more musical (to Oliver's ears at least) than
any he had ever heard in church before. Then there
were the walks as usual, and many calls at the clean
houses of the laboring men ; and at night Oliver
read a chapter or two from the Bible, which he had
been studying all the week, and in the performance
of which duty he felt more proud and pleased than
if he had been the clergyman himself.

In the morning Oliver would be afoot by six
o'clock, roaming the fields, and plundering the
hedges far and wide for nosegays of wild flowers,
with which he would return laden home ; and which
it took great care and consideration to arrange, to
the best advantage, for the embellishment of the
breakfast-table. There was fresh groundsel, too, for
Miss Maylie's birds, with which Oliver, who had been
studying the subject under the able tuition of the
village clerk, would decorate the cages in the most
approved taste. When the birds were made all spruce
and smart for the day, there was usually some little
commission of charity to execute in the village ; or,
failing that, there was rare cricket-playing, some
times, on the green ; or, failing that, there was al
ways something to do in the garden, or about the
plants, to which Oliver (who had studied this science
also, under the same master, who was a gardener by

102

OLIVER TWIST.

trade), applied himself with hearty good-will, until
Miss Rose made her appearance : when there were a
thousand commendations to be bestowed on all he
had done.

So three mouths glided away ; three months which,
in the life of the most blessed and favored of mor
tals, might have been uumingled happiness, and
which, in Oliver's, were true felicity. With the pur
est and most amiable generosity on one side ; and
the truest, warmest, soul-felt gratitude on the other ;
it is no wonder that, by the end of that short time,
Oliver Twist had become completely domesticated

and health ; and stretching forth their green arms
over the thirsty ground, converted open and naked
spots into choice nooks, where was a deep and pleas
ant shade from which to look upon the wide pros
pect, steeped in sunshine, which lay stretched be
yond. The earth had donned her mantle of bright
est green, and shed her richest perfumes abroad. It
was the prime and vigor of the year ; all things were
glad aud nourishing.

Still, the same quiet life went on at the little cot
tage, and the same cheerful serenity prevailed among
its inmates. Oliver had long since grown stout and

' WHEN IT BECAME QUITE DAi'.K, AND THEY BKTUBNED HOME, THE YOUNG LADY WOULD SIT DOWN TO THE PIANO AND PLAY SOME

PLEASANT AIK."

with the old lady and her niece, and that the fer
vent attachment of his young and sensitive heart
was repaid by their pride in, and attachment to,

himself.

CHAPTER XXXIII.

\VHEREIN THE HAPPINESS OF OLIVER AND HIS FRIENDS
EXPERIENCES A SUDDEN CHECK.

SPRING flew swiftly by, and summer came. If
the village had been beautiful at first, it was
now in the full glow and luxuriance of its richness.
The great trees, which had looked shrunken and bare
iu the earlier mouths, had now burst into strong life

healthy ; but health or sickness made no difference
iu his warm feelings to those about him, "though they
do in the feelings of a great many people. He AMIS
still the same gentle, attached, affectionate creature
that he had been when pain and suffering had
wasted his strength, and when he was dependent for
every slight attention and comfort on those who
tended him.

One beautiful night they had taken a longer walk
than was customary with them ; for the day had
been unusually warm, and there was a brilliant
moon, and a light wind had sprung up, which was
unusually refreshing. Rose had been in high spir
its, too, and they had walked on, in merry conver
sation, uutil they had far exceeded their ordinary

A SEAL ALARM.

103

bounds. Mrs. Maylie beiiig fatigued, they returned
more slowly home. The young lady, merely throw
ing off her simple bonnet, sat down to the piano as
usual. After running abstractedly over the keys
for a few minutes, she fell into a low and very sol
emn air ; and as she played it, they heard a sound as
if she were weeping.

" Rose, my dear!" said the elder lady.

Rose made no reply, but played a little quicker, as
though the words had roused her from some painful
thoughts.

" Rose, my love !" cried Mrs. Maylie, rising hastily,
and bending over her. " What is this ? In tears !
My dear child, what distresses you ?"

"Nothing, aunt ; nothing," replied the young lady.
" I don't know what it is; I can't describe it; but I
feel

" Not ill, my love ?" interposed Mrs. Maylie.

" No, no ! Oh, not ill !" replied Rose, shuddering
as though some deadly dullness were passing over
her while she spoke; "I shall be better presently.
Close the window, pray !"

Oliver hastened to comply with her request. The
young lady, making an effort to recover her cheer
fulness, strove to play some livelier tune ; but her
fingers dropped powerless on the keys. Covering
her face with her hands, she sank upon a sofa, and
gave vent to the tears which she was now unable to
repress.

"My child!" said the elderly lady, folding her
anus about her. " I never saw you so before."

" I would not alarm you if I could avoid it," re
joined Rose; "but indeed I have tried very hard,
and can not help this. I fear I am ill, aunt."

She was, indeed ; for, when caudles were brought,
they saw that in the very short time which had
elapsed since their return home, the hue of her coun
tenance had changed to a marble whiteness. Its ex
pression had lost nothing of its beauty, but it was
changed ; and there was an anxious, haggard look
about the gentle face, which it had never worn be
fore. Another minute, and it was suffused with a
crimson flush, and a heavy wildness came over the
soft blue eye. Again this disappeared, like the shad
ow thrown by a passing cloud; and she was once
more deadly pale.

Oliver, who watched the old lady anxiously, ob
served that she was alarmed by these appearances ;
and so, in truth, was he ; but seeing that she affected
to make light of them, he endeavored to do the same,
and they so far succeeded that, when Rose was per
suaded by her aunt to retire for the night, she was
iu better spirits, and appeared even in better health ;
assuring them that she felt certain she should rise in
the morning quite well.

" I hope," said Oliver, when Mrs. Maylie returned,
" that nothing is the matter ? She don't look well
to-night, but "

The old lady motioned to him not to speak ; and
sitting herself down in a dark corner of the room,
remained silent for some time. At length she said,
in a trembling voice :

"I hope not, Oliver. I have been very happy
with her for some years too happy, perhaps. It
may be time that I should meet with some misfor
tune ; but I hope it is not this."

" What ?" inquired Oliver.

" The heavy blow," said the old lady, " of losing
the dear girl who has so long been my comfort and
happiness."

" Oh ! God forbid !" exclaimed Oliver, hastily.

"Amen to that, my child!" said the old lady,
wringing her hands.

" Surely there is no danger of any thing so dread
ful f ' said Oliver. " Two hours ago she was quite
well."

" She is very ill now," rejoined Mrs. Maylie ; " and
will be worse, I am sure. My dear, dear Rose ! Oh,
what should I do without her ?"

She gave way to such great grief, that Oliver,
suppressing his own emotion, ventured to remon
strate with her, and to beg earnestly that, for the
sake of the dear young lady herself, she would be
more cahn.

"And consider, ma'am," said Oliver, as the tears
forced themselves into his eyes, despite of his efforts
to the contrary "oh! consider how young and
good she is, and what pleasure and comfort she
gives to all about her. I am sure certain quite
certain that, for your sake, who are so good your
self; and for her own; and for the sake of all she
makes so happy; she will not die.. Heaven will
never let her die so young."

" Hush !" said Mrs. Maylie, laying . her hand on
Oliver's head. " You think like a child, poor boy.
But you teach me my duty, notwithstanding. I had
forgotten it for a moment, Oliver, but I hope I may
be pardoned, for I am old, and have seen enough of
illness and death to know the agony of separation
from the objects of our love. I have seen enough,
too, to know that it is not always the youngest and
best who are spared to those that love them ; but
this should give us comfort in our sorrow ; for Heav
en is just ; and such things teach us, impressively,
that there is a brighter world than this ; and that
the passage to it is speedy. God's will be done ! I
love her; and He knows how well!"

Oliver was surprised to see that as Mrs. Maylie
said these words, she checked her lamentations as
though by one effort ; and drawing herself up as slit-
spoke, became composed and firm. He was still
more astonished to find that this firmness lasted;
and that, under all the care and watching which en
sued, Mrs. Maylie was ever ready and collected : per
forming all the duties which devolved upon her,
steadily, and, to all external appearances, even cheer
fully. But he was young, and did not know what
strong minds are capable of, under trying circum
stances. How should he, when their possessors so
seldom know themselves ?

An anxious night ensued. When morning came,
Mrs. Maylie's predictions were but too well verified.
Rose was in the first stage of a high and dangerous
fever.

" We must be active, Oliver, and not give way to
useless grief," said Mrs. Maylie, laying her finger on
her lip, as she looked steadily into his face ; " this
letter must be sent, with all possible expedition, to
Mr. Losberue. It must be carried to the market-
town, which is not more than four miles off by the
foot-path across the fields, and thence dispatched, by
an express on horseback, straight to Chertsey. The

104

OLIVER TWIST.

people at the inu will undertake to do this; and I
can trust to you to see it done, I know."

Oliver could make no reply, but looked his anx
iety to be gone at once.

" Here is another letter," said Mrs. Maylie, pausing
to reflect ; " but whether to send it now, or wait un
til I see how Kose goes on, I scarcely know. I would
not forward it unless I feared the worst."

" Is it for Chertsey, too, ma'am ?" inquired Oliver,
impatient to execute his commission, and holding out
his trembling hand for the letter.

" No," replied the old lady, giving it to him me
chanically. Oliver glanced at it, and saw that it
was directed to Harry Maylie, Esquire, at some great
lord's house in the country; where, he could not
make out.

" Shall it go, ma'am ?" asked Oliver, looking up,
impatiently.

" I think not," replied Mrs. Maylie, taking it back.
" I will Avait until to-morrow."

With these words she gave Oliver her purse, and
he started off, without more delay, at the greatest
speed he could muster.

Swiftly he ran across the fields, and down the lit
tle lanes which sometimes divided them; now al
most hidden by the high corn on either side, and
now emerging on an open field, where the mowers
and hay-makers were busy at their work; nor did
he stop once, save now and then, for a few seconds,
to recover breath, until he came, in a great heat, and
covered with dust, on the little market-place of the
market-town.

Here he paused and looked about for the inn.
There were a white bank, and a red brewery, and a
yellow town-hall; and in one corner there was a
large house, with all the wood about it painted
green, before which was the sign of " The George."
To this he hastened, as soon as it caught his eye.

He spoke to a postboy who was dozing under the
gate-way ; and who, after hearing what he wanted,
referred him to the hostler ; who, after hearing all
he had to say again, referred him to the landlord,
who was a tall gentleman in a blue neckcloth, a
white hat, drab breeches, and boots with tops to
match, leaning against a pump by the stable-door,
picking his teeth with a silver tooth-pick.

This gentleman walked with much deliberation
into the bar to make out the bill, which took a long
time making out ; and after it was ready and paid,
a horse had to be saddled, and a man to be dressed,
which took up ten good minutes more. Meanwhile
Oliver was in such a desperate state of impatience
and anxiety, that he felt as if he could have jumped
upon the horse himself, and galloped away, full tear,
to the next stage. At length all was ready, and the
little parcel having been handed up, with many in
junctions and entreaties for its speedy delivery, the
man set spurs to his horse, and rattling over the
uneven paving of the market-place, was out of the
town, and galloping along the turnpike -road, in a
couple of minutes.

As it was something to feel certain that assist
ance was sent for, and that 110 time had been lost,
Oliver hurried up the inn-yard with a somewhat
lighter heart. He was turning out of the gate-way
when he accidentally stumbled against a tall man

wrapped in a cloak, who was at that moment com
ing out of the inn door.

" Hah !" cried the man, fixing his eyes on Oliver,
and suddenly recoiling. " What the devil's this ?"

" I beg your pardon, sir," said Oliver ; " I was in
a great hurry to get home, and didn't see you were
coming."

" Death !" muttered the man to himself, glaring at
the boy with his large dark eyes. "Who would
have thought it ! Grind him to ashes ! He'd start
up from a stone coffin, to come in my way !"

" I am sorry," stammered Oliver, confused by the
strange man's wild look. " I hope I have not hurt
you !"

" Eot you !" murmured the man, in a horrible pas
sion, between his clenched teeth ; " if I had only had
the courage to say the word, I might have been free
of you in a night. Curses on your head, and black
death on your heart, you imp ! What are you doing
here f '

The man shook his fist as he uttered these words
incoherently. He advanced toward Oliver, as if
with the intention of aiming a blow at him, but fell
violently on the ground, writhing and foaming, in a
fit.

Oliver gazed, for a moment, at the struggles of the
madman (for such he supposed him to be), and then
darted into the house for help. Having seen him
safely carried into the hotel, he turned his face
homeward, running as fast as he could, to make up
for lost time, and recalling with a great deal of as
tonishment and some fear the extraordinary behav
ior of the person from whom he had just parted.

The circumstance did not dwell in his recollection
long, however ; for when he reached the cottage,
there was enough to occupy his mind, and to drive all
considerations of self completely from his memory.

Rose Maylie had rapidly grown worse ; before mid
night she was delirious. A medical practitioner,
who resided on the spot, was in constant attendance
upon her ; and after first seeing the patient, he had
taken Mrs. Maylie aside, and pronounced her disor
der to be one of a most alarming nature. " In fact,"
he said, " it would be little short of a miracle if she
recovered."

How often did Oliver start from his bed that night,
and stealing out, with noiseless footstep, to the stair
case, listen for the slightest sound from the sick-
chamber ! How often did a tremble shake his frame,
and cold drops of terror start upon his brow, when a
sudden trampling of feet caused him to fear that
something too dreadful to think of had even then
occurred ! And what had been the fervency of all
the prayers he had ever uttered, compared with
those he poured forth now, in the agony and pas
sion of his supplication for the life and health of
the gentle creature who was tottering on the deep
grave's verge !

Oh ! the suspense, the fearful, acute suspense, of
standing idly by while the life of one we dearly
love is trembling in the balance ! Oh ! the racking
thoughts that crowd upon the mind, and make the
heart beat violently, and the breath come thick, by
the force of the images they conjure up before it ;
the desperate anxiety io be doing something to relieve
the pain, or lessen the danger, which we have no

FLO WEBS FOB THE SICK-CHAMJ3EB.

105

power to alleviate ; the sinkiiig of soul and spirit,
which the sad remembrance of our helplessness pro
duces ; what tortures can equal these ; what reflec
tions or endeavors can, in the full tide and fever of
the time, allay them !

Morning came ; and the little cottage was lonely
and still. People spoke in whispers ; anxious faces
appeared at the gate, from time to time ; women and
children went away in tears. All the livelong day,
and for hours after it had grown dark, Oliver paced
softly up and down the garden, raising his eyes
every instant to the sick-chamber, and shuddering
to see the darkened window, looking as if death lay
stretched inside. Late at night Mr. Losberne ar
rived. " It is hard," said the good doctor, turning
away as he spoke ; " so young ; so much beloved ;
but there is very little hope."

Another morning. The sun shone brightly as
brightly as if it looked upon no misery or care ; and,
with every leaf and flower in full bloom about her ;
with life and health, and sounds and sights of joy,
surrounding her on every side, the fair young crea
ture lay, wasting fast. Oliver crept away to the old
church-yard, and sitting down on one of the green
mounds, wept and prayed for her in silence.

There was such peace and beauty in the scene ; so
much of brightness and mirth in the sunny land
scape ; such blithesome music in the songs of the
summer birds ; such freedom in the rapid flight of
the rook, careering overhead ; so much of life and
joyousness in all; that, when the boy raised his
acMng eyes and looked about, the thought instinct
ively occurred to him, that this was not a tune for
death ; that Rose could surely never die when hum
bler things were all so glad and gay; that graves
were for cold and cheerless winter ; not for sunlight
and fragrance. He almost thought that shrouds
were for the old and shrunken ; and that they never
wrapped the young and graceful form in their ghast
ly folds.

A knell from the church-bell broke harshly on
these youthful thoughts. Another ! Again ! It was
tolling for the funeral service. A group of humble
mourners entered the gate, wearing white favors, for
the corpse was young. They stood uncovered by
a grave ; and there was a mother a mother once
among the weeping train. But the sun shone
brightly, and the birds sang on.

Oliver turned homeward, thinking on the many
kindnesses he had received from the young lady,
and wishing that the time could come over again,
that he might never cease showing her how grateful
and attached he was. He had no cause for self-
reproach on the score of neglect or want of thought,
for he had been devoted to her service ; and yet a
hundred little occasions rose up before him on
which he fancied he might have been more zealous
and more earnest, and wished he had been. We
need be careful how we deal with those about us,
when every death carries to some small circle of
survivors thoughts of so much omitted, and so lit
tle done of so many things forgotten, and so many
more which might have been repaired ! There is no
remorse so deep as that which is unavailing ; if we
would be spared its tortures, let us remember this in
time.

When he reached home Mrs. Maylie was sitting in
the little parlor. Oliver's heart sank at sight of
her ; for she had never left the bedside of her niece,
and he trembled to think what change could have
driven her away. He learned that she had fallen
into a deep sleep, from which she would waken,
either to recovery and life, or to bid them farewell
and die.

They sat, listening, and afraid to speak for hours.
The uutasted meal was removed, with looks which
showed that their thoughts were elsewhere, they
watched the sun as he sank lower and lower, and
at length cast over sky and earth those brilliant
hues which herald his departure. Their quick ears
caught the sound of an approaching footstep. They
both involuntarily darted to the door, as Mr. Los
berne entered.

" What of Eose ?" cried the old lady. " Tell me at
onee ! I can bear it ; any thing but suspense ! Oh,
tell me ! in the name of Heaven !"

" You must compose yourself," said the doctor, sup
porting her. " Be calm, my dear ina'ain, pray."

" Let me go, in God's name ! My dear child ! She
is dead ! She is dying !"

"No!" cried the doctor, passionately. "As He is
good and merciful, she will live to bless us all for
years to come."

The lady fell upon her knees, and tried to fold her
hands together ; but the energy which had support
ed her so long, fled up to Heaven with her first
thanksgiving; and she sank into the MeQdly anus
which were extended to receive her.

CHAPTER XXXIV.

CONTAINS SOME INTRODUCTORY PARTICULARS RELATIVE
TO A YOUNG GENTLEMAN WHO NOW ARRIVES UPON THE
SCENE, AND A NEW ADVENTURE WHICH HAPPENED TO
OLIVER.

IT was almost too much happiness to bear. Oliver
felt stunned and stupefied by the unexpected in
telligence ; he could not weep, or speak, or rest. He
had scarcely the power of understanding any thing
that had passed, until, after a long ramble in the
quiet evening air, a burst of tears came to his relief,
and he seemed to awaken, all at once, to a full sense
of the joyful change that had occurred, and the al
most insupportable load of anguish which had been
taken from his breast.

The night was fast closing in when he returned
homeward, laden with flowers which he had culled,
with peculiar care, for the adornment of the sick-
chamber. As he walked briskly along the road,
he heard behind him the noise of some vehicle, ap
proaching at a furious pace. Looking round, he saw
that it was a post-chaise, driven at great speed ; and
as the horses were galloping, and the road was nar
row, he stood leaning against a gate until it should
have passed him.

As it dashed on, Oliver caught a glimpse of a man
in a white night-cap, whose face seemed familiar to
him, although Ms view was so brief that he could
not identify the person. In another second or two,
the night-cap was thrust out of the chaise-window,

100

OLIVER TWIST.

and a stentorian voice bellowed to the driver to
stop ; which he did, as soon as he could pull up his
horses. Then the night-cap once again appeared,
aud the same voice called Oliver by his name.

" Here !" cried the voice. " Oliver, what's the news ?
Miss Rose ! Master O-li-ver !"

"Is it you, Giles?" cried Oliver, running up to the
chaise-door.

Giles popped out his night-cap again, preparatory
to making some reply, when he was suddenly pulled
back by a young gentleman who occupied the other
corner of the chaise, and who eagerly demanded what
was the news.

"In a word!" cried the gentleman, "better or
worse ?"

"Better much better!" replied Oliver, hastily.

The tears stood in Olivers eyes as he recalled the
scene which was the beginning of so much happi
ness ; and the gentleman turned his face away, and
remained silent for some minutes. Oliver thought
he heard him sob more than once ; but he feared to
interrupt him by any fresh remark for he could
well guess what his feelings were and so stood
apart, feigning to be occupied with his nosegay.

All this time Mr. Giles, with the white night-cap
on, had been sitting on the steps of the chaise, sup
porting an elbow on each knee, and wiping his eyes
with a blue cotton pocket-handkerchief dotted with
white spots. That the honest fellow had not been
feigning emotion, was abundantly demonstrated by
the very red eyes with which he regarded the young
gentleman when he turned round and addressed him.

" LOOKING BOTTNJ), IIE SAW TIIAT IT WAS A PO8T-OHAISE, DRIVEN AT GREAT SPEED.

" Thank Heaven !" exclaimed the gentleman. " You
are sure ?"

" Quite, sir," replied Oliver. "The change took
place only a few hours ago ; and Mr. Losberne says
that all danger is at an end."

The gentleman said not another word, but, open
ing the chaise-door, leaped out, and taking Oliver
hurriedly by the arm, led him aside.

" You are quite certain ? There is no possibility of
any mistake on your part, my boy, is there I" demanded
the gentleman, in a tremulous voice. " Do not deceive
me, by awakening hopes that are not to be fulfilled."

" I would not for the world, sir," replied Oliver.
" Indeed you may believe me. Mr. Losberue's words
were, that she would live to bless us all for many
years to come. I heard him say so."

" I think you had better go on to my mother's in
the chaise, Giles," said he. " I would rather walk
slowly on, so as to gain a little time before I see her.
You can say I am coming."

" I beg your pardon, Mr. Harry," said Giles, giving
a final polish to his ruffled countenance with the
handkerchief; "but if you would leave the postboy
to say that, I should be very much obliged to you.
It wouldn't be proper for the maids to see me in this
state, sir ; I should never have any more authority
with them if they did."

" Well," rejoined Harry Maylie, smiling, " you can
do as you like. Let him go on with the luggage, if
you wish it, and do you follow with us. Only first
exchange that night-cap for some more appropriate
covering, or we shall be taken for madmeu."

AX AVOWAL OF LOVE.

107

Mr. Giles, reminded of his unbecoming costume,
snatched off and pocketed his night-cap, and substi
tuted a hat, of grave and sober shape, which he took
out of the chaise. This done, the postboy drove off;
Giles, Mr. Maylie, and Oliver, followed at their leisure.

As they walked along, Oliver glanced from time to
time with much interest and curiosity at the new
comer. He seemed about tive-and-tweuty years of
age, and was of the middle height ; his countenance
was frank and handsome, and his demeanor easy
and prepossessing. Notwithstanding the difference
between youth and age, he bore so strong a likeness
to the old lady, that Oliver would have had no great
difficulty in imagining their relationship, if he had
not already spoken of her as his mother.

Mrs. Maylie was anxiously waiting to receive her
sou when he reached the cottage. The meeting did
not take place without great emotion oil both sides.

" Mother !" whispered the young man ; " why did
you not write before ?"

" I did," replied Mrs. Maylie ; " but, on reflection, I
determined to keep back the letter until I had heard
Mr. Losberue's opinion."

" But why," said the young man, " why run the
chance of that occurring which so nearly happened ?
If Rose had I can not utter that word now if this
illness had terminated differently, how could you
ever have forgiven yourself! How could I ever
Lave known happiness again !"

" If that had been the case, Harry," said Mrs. May-
lie, " I fear your happiness would have been effectual
ly blighted, and that your arrival here, a day sooner
or a day later, would have been of very, very little
import."

"And who can wonder if it be so, mother?" rejoined
the young man ; " or why should I say iff it is it
is you know it, mother you must know it !"

" I know that she deserves the best and purest
love the heart of man can offer," said Mrs. Maylie;
" I know that the devotion and affection of her na
ture require no ordinary return, but one that shall
be deep and lasting. If I did not feel this, and
know, besides, that a changed behavior in one she
loved would break her heart, I should not feel my
task so difficult of performance, or have to encounter
so many struggles in my own bosom, when I take
what seems to me to be the strict line of duty."

" This is unkind, mother," said Harry. " Do you
still suppose that I am a boy ignorant of my own
mind, and mistaking the impulses of my own soul ?"

" I think, my dear sou," returned Mrs. Maylie, lay
ing her hand upon his shoulder, " that youth has
many generous impulses which do not last ; and that
among them are some which, being gratified, become
only the more fleeting. Above all, I think," said the
lady, fixing her eyes ou her son's face, " that if an
enthusiastic, ardent, and ambitious man marry a
wife on whose name there is a stain, which, though
it originate in no fault of hers, may be visited by
old and sordid people upon her, and upon his chil
dren also ; and, in exact proportion to his success in
the world, be cast in his teeth, and made the subject
of sneers against him ; he may, no matter how gen
erous and good his nature, one day repent of the coii-
nei-tion he formed in early life. And she may have
the pain of knowing that he does so."

"Mother," said the young man, impatiently, "he
would be a selfish brute, unworthy alike of the name
of man and of the woman you describe, who acted
thus."

" You think so now, Harry," replied his mother.
"And ever will!" said the young man. "The
mental agony I have suffered, during the last two
days, wrings from me the avowal to you of a passion
which, as you well know, is not one of yesterday, nor
one I have lightly formed. On Rose, sweet, gentle
girl ! my heart is set as firmly as ever heart of man
was set on woman. I have no thought, no view, no
hope in life, beyond her ; and if you oppose me in
this great stake, you take my peace and happiness
in your hands, and cast them to the wind. Mother,
think better of this and of me, and do not disre
gard the happiness of which you seem to think so
little."

" Harry," said Mrs. Maylie, " it is because I think
so much of warm and sensitive hearts, that I would
spare them from being wounded. But we have said
enough, and more than enough, on this matter, just
now."

" Let it rest with Rose, then," interposed Harry.
" You will not press these overstrained opinions of
yours so far as to throw any obstacle in my way .'"

" I will not," rejoined Mrs. Maylie ; " but I would
have you consider "

" I have considered !" was the impatient reply ;
" mother, I have considered years and years. I have
considered ever since I have been capable of serious
reflection. My feelings remain unchanged, as they
ever will ; and why should I suffer the pain of a de
lay in giving them vent, which can be productive of
no earthly good? No! Before I leave this place,
Rose shall hear me."

" She shall," said Mrs. Maylie.
" There is something in your manner which would
almost imply that she will hear me coldly, mother,"
said the young man.

" Not coldly," rejoined the old lady ; " far from it."
"How then?" urged the young man. "She has
formed no other attachment ?"

" No, indeed," replied his mother ; " you have, or I
mistake, too strong a hold on her affections already.
What I would say," resumed the old lady, stopping
her son as he was about to speak, " is this. Before
you stake your all on this chance before you suffer
yourself to be carried to the highest point of hope
reflect for a few moments, my dear child, on Rose's
history, and consider what effect the knowledge of
her doubtful birth may have on her decision; de
voted as she is to us, with all the intensity of her
noble mind, and with that perfect sacrifice of self
which, in all matters, great or trifling, has always
been her characteristic."
" What do you mean ?"

"That I leave you to discover," replied Mrs. May-
lie. " I must go back to her. God bless you !"

" I shall see you again to-night ?" said the young
man, eagerly.

"By-aud-by," replied the lady; "when I leave
Rose."

" You will tell her I am here ?" said Harry.

" Of course," replied Mrs. Maylie.

"And say how anxious I have been, and how much

108

OLIVER TWIST.

I have suffered, and how I long to see her. You will
not refuse to do this, mother f

" No," said the old lady ; " I will tell her all."
Aud pressing her sou's hand affectionately, she has
tened from the room.

Mr. Losberne and Oliver had remained at another
end of the apartment while this hurried conversa
tion was proceeding. The former now held out his
hand to Harry Maylie, and hearty salutations were
exchanged between them. The doctor then com
municated, in reply to multifarious questions from
his young friend, a precise account of his patient's
situation, which was quite as consolatory and full of
promise as Oliver's statement had encouraged him to
hope ; and to the whole of which Mr. Giles, who af
fected to be busy about the luggage, listened with
greedy ears.

" Have you shot any thing particular lately, Giles ?"
inquired the doctor, when he had concluded.

" Nothing particular, sir," replied Mr. Giles, color
ing up to the eyes.

"Nor catching any thieves, nor identifying any
housebreakers ?" said the doctor.

"None at all, sir," replied Mr. Giles, with much
gravity.

" Well," said the doctor, " I am sorry to hear it,
because you do that sort of thing admirably. Pray
how is Brittles ?"

" The boy is very well, sir," said Mr. Giles, recov
ering his usual tone of patronage, " and sends his re
spectful duty, sir."

" That's well," said the doctor. " Seeing you here
reminds me, Mr. Giles, that on the day before that
on which I was called away so hurriedly, I executed,
at the request of yotir good mistress, a small com
mission in your favor. Just step into this corner a
moment, will you t"

Mr. Giles walked into the corner with much im
portance and some wonder, and was honored with a
short whispering conference with the doctor, on the
termination of which he made a great many bows,
and retired with steps of unusual stateliuess. The
subject-matter of this conference was not disclosed
in the parlor, but the kitchen was speedily enlight
ened concerning it, for Mr. Giles walked straight
thither, and, having called for a mug of ale, an
nounced, with an air of majesty, which was highly
effective, that it had pleased his mistress, in consid
eration of his gallant behavior on the occasion of
that attempted robbery, to deposit, in the local sav
ings bank, the sum of five-aud-twenty pounds for
his sole use and benefit. At this the two women-
servants lifted up their hands and eyes, and supposed
that Mr. Giles would begin to be quite proud now ;
whereuuto Mr. Giles, pulling out his shirt-frill, re
plied, " No, no ;" and that if they observed that he
was at all haughty to his inferiors, he would thank
them to tell him so. And then he made a great
many other remarks, no less illustrative of his hu
mility, which were received with equal favor and
applause, and were, withal, as original and as much
to the purpose as the remarks of great men common
ly are.

Above stairs the remainder of the evening passed
cheerfully away ; for the doctor was in high spirits,
and however fatigued or thoughtful Harry Maylie

might have been at first, he was not proof against
the worthy gentleman's good-humor, which display
ed itself in a great variety of sallies and professional
recollections, and an abundance of small jokes, which
struck Oliver as being the drollest things he had
ever heard, and caused him to laugh proportionate
ly, to the evident satisfaction of the doctor, who
laughed immoderately at himself, and made Harry
laugh almost as heartily by the very force of sympa
thy. So they were as pleasant a party as, under the
circumstances, they could well have been, and it was
late before they retired, with light and thankful
hearts, to take that rest of which, after the doubt
and suspense they had recently undergone, they stood
much in need.

Oliver rose next morning in better heart, and went
about his usual early occupations with more hope
and pleasure than he had known for many days.
The birds were once more hung out to sing in their
old places, and the sweetest wild flowers that could
be found were once more gathered to gladden Rose
with their beauty. The melancholy which had
seemed to the sad eyes of the anxious boy to hang,
for days past, over every object, beautiful as all were,
was dispelled by magic. The dew seemed to sparkle
more brightly on the green leaves, the air to rustle
among them with a sweeter music, and the sky itself
to look more blue and bright. Such is the influence
which the condition of bur own thoughts exercises,
even over the appearance of external objects. Men
who look on nature and their fellow-men, and cry
that all is dark and gloomy, are in the right ; but
the sombre colors are reflections from their own
jaundiced eyes and hearts. The real hues are deli
cate, and need a clearer vision.

It is worthy of remark, and Oliver did not fail to
note it at the time, that his morning expeditions
were no longer made alone. Harry Maylie, after the
very first morning when he met Oliver coming laden
home, was seized with such a passion for flowers,
and displayed such a taste in their arrangement,
as left his young companion far behind. If Oliver
were behindhand in these respects, however, he knew
where the best were to be found ; and morning af
ter morning they scoured the country together, and
brought home the fairest that blossomed. The win
dow of the young lady's chamber was opened now.
for she loved to feel the rich summer air stream in
and revive her with its freshness, but there always
stood in water, just inside the lattice, one particular
little bunch, which was made np with great care ev
ery morning. Oliver could not help noticing that
the withered flowers were never thrown away, al
though the little vase was regularly replenished ;
nor could he help observing that, whenever the doc
tor came into the garden, he invariably cast his eyes
up to that particular corner, and nodded his head
most expressively as he set forth on his morning's
walk. Pending these observations, the days were
flying by, and Rose was rapidly recovering.

Nor did Oliver's time hang heavily on his hands,
although the young lady had not yet left her cham
ber, and there were no evening walks, save now and
then for a short distance with Mrs. Maylie. He ap
plied himself with redoubled assiduity to the instruc
tions of the white-headed old gentleman, and labored

OLIVER SLEEP-WAKIXG.

109

so hard that his quick progress surprised even him
self. It was while he was engaged in this pursuit
that he was greatly startled aud distressed by a most
unexpected occurrence.

The little room in which he was accustomed to sit
when busy at his books was on the ground-floor at
the back of the house. It was quite a cottage-room,
with a lattice-window, around which were clusters
of jessamine and honeysuckle that crept over the
casement and filled the place with their delicious
perfume. It looked into a garden, whence a wicket-
gate opened into a small paddock ; all beyond was
fine meadow-laud aud wood. There was no other
dwelling near in that direction, and the prospect it
commanded was very extensive.

One beautiful evening, when the first shades of
twilight were beginning to settle upon the earth,
Oliver sat at this window intent upon his books.
He had been poring over them for some time, and as
the day had been uncommonly sultry, and he had
exerted himself a great deal, it is no disparagement
to the authors, whoever they may have been, to say
that gradually and by slow degrees he fell asleep.

There is a kind of sleep that steals upon us some
times, which, while it holds the body prisoner, does
not free the mind from a sense of things about it and
enable it to ramble at its pleasure. So far as an
overpowering heaviness, a prostration of strength,
and an utter inability to control our thoughts or
power of motion can be called sleep, this is it ; and
yet we have a consciousness of all that is going on
about us, and, if we dream at such a time, words
which are really spoken, or sounds which really ex
ist at the moment, accommodate themselves with
surprising readiness to our visions, until reality and
imagination become so strangely blended that it is
afterward almost matter of impossibility to separate
the two. Nor is this the most striking phenome
non incidental to such a state. It is an undoubted
fact, that although our senses of touch and sight be
for the time dead, yet our sleeping thoughts and the
visionary scenes that pass before us, will be influ
enced, and materially influenced, by the mere silent
presence of some external object which may not have
been near us when we closed our eyes, and of whose
vicinity we have had no waking consciousness.

Oliver knew perfectly well that he was in his own
little room ; that his books were lying on the table
before him ; that the sweet air was stirring among
the creeping plants outside. And yet he was asleep.
Suddenly the scene changed ; the air became close
and confined; and he thought, with a glow of terror,
that he was in the Jew's house again. There sat the
hideous old man, in his accustomed corner, pointing
at him, and whispering to another man, with his face
averted, who sat beside him.

" Hush, my dear !" he thought he heard the Jew
say ; " it is he, sure enough. Come away."

" He !" the other man seemed to answer ; " could
I mistake him, think you ? If a crowd of ghosts were
to put themselves into his exact shape, and he stood
among them, there is something that would tell me
how to point him out. If you buried him fifty feet
deep, aud took me across his grave, I fancy I should
know, if there wasn't a mark above it, that he lay
buried there !"

The man seemed to say this with such dreadful
hatred, that Oliver awoke with the fear, and started
up.

Good Heaven ! what was that which sent the blood
tingling to his heart, and deprived him of his voice,
and of power to move ! There there at the win
dow close before him so close that he could have
almost touched him before he started back, with his
eyes peering into the room, and meeting his, there
stood the Jew! And beside him, white with rage or
fear, or both, were the scowling features of the very
man who had accosted him in the inn-yard.

It was but an instant, a glance, a flash, before his
eyes ; and they were gone. But they had recognized
him, and he them ; and their look was as firmly im
pressed upon his memory as if it had been deeply
carved in stone, and set before him from his birth.
He stood transfixed for a moment ; then, leaping
from the window into the garden, called loudly for
help.

CHAPTER XXXV.

CONTAINING THE UNSATISFACTORY RESULT OF OLIVER'S
ADVENTURE, AND A CONVERSATION OF SOME IMPOR
TANCE BETWEEN HARRY MAYLIE AND ROSE.

WHEN the inmates of the house, attracted by
Oliver's cries, hurried to the spot from which
they proceeded, they found him, pale and agitated,
pointing in the direction of the meadows behind the
house, and scarcely able to articulate the words,
" The Jew ! the Jew !"

Mr. Giles was at a loss to comprehend what this
outcry meant ; but Harry Maylie, whose perceptions
were something quicker, and who had heard Oliver's
history from his mother, understood it at once.

" What direction did he take ?" he asked, catching
up a heavy stick which was standing in a corner.

" That," replied Oliver, pointing out the course
the man had taken ; " I missed them in an instant."

" Then they are in the ditch !" said Harry. " Fol
low ! And keep as near me as you can." So saying,
he sprang over the hedge, and darted off with a speed
which rendered it matter of exceeding difficulty for
the others to keep near him.

Giles followed as well as he could, and Oliver fol
lowed too ; and in the course of a minute or two, Mr.
Losberne, who had been out walking, and just then
returned, tumbled over the hedge after them, and
picking himself up with more agility than he could
have been supposed to possess, struck into the same
course at no contemptible speed, shouting all the
while most prodigiously to know what was the mat
ter.

On they all went; nor stopped they once to breathe
until the leader, striking off into an angle of the field
indicated by Oliver, began to search narrowly the
ditch and hedge adjoining, which afforded time for
the remainder of the party to come up, and for Oli
ver to communicate to Mr. Losberne the circum
stances that had led to so vigorous a pursuit.

The search was all in vain. There were not even
the traces of recent footsteps to be seen. They
stood now on the summit of a little hill commanding
the open fields in every direction for three or four

110

OLIVER TWIST.

miles. There was the Tillage in the hollow on the
left ; but, in order to gain that, after pursuing the
truck Oliver had pointed out, the men must have
made a circuit of open ground, which it was impos
sible they could have accomplished in so short a
time. A thick wood skirted the* meadow-land in an
other direction, but they could not have gained that
covert for the same reason.

" It must have been a dream, Oliver," said Harry
Maylie.

"Oh no, indeed, sir!" replied Oliver, shuddering
at the very recollection of the old wretch's counte
nance ; " I saw him too plainly for that. I saw them
both as plainly as I see you uow."

" Who was the other f" inquired Harry and Mr.
Losberne together.

" The very same man I told yon of, who came so
suddenly upon me at the inn," said Oliver. "We
had our eyes fixed full upon each other ; and I could
swear to him."

" They took this way ?" demanded Harry : " are
you sure ?"

" As I am that the men were at the window," re
plied Oliver, pointing down as he spoke to the hedge
which divided the cottage garden from the meadow.
" The tall man leaped over just there ; and the Jew,
running a few paces to the right, crept through that
gap."

The two gentlemen watched Oliver's earnest face
as he spoke, and, looking from him to each other,
seemed to feel satisfied of the accuracy of what he
said. Still in no direction were there any appear
ances of the trampling of men in hurried flight. The
grass was long, but it was trodden down nowhere,
save where their own feet had crushed it. The sides
aud brinks of the ditches were of damp clay ; but in
no one place could they discern the print of men's
shoes, or the slightest mark which Avould indicate that
any feet had pressed the ground for hours before.

'' This is strange !" said Harry.

" Strange !" echoed the doctor. " Blathers and
Duff themselves could make nothing of it !"

Notwithstanding the evidently useless nature of
their search, they did not desist until the coming on
of night rendered its further prosecution hopeless ;
and even then they gave it up with reluctance.
Giles was dispatched to the different ale-houses in
the village, furnished with the best description Oli
ver could give of the appearance and dress of the
strangers. Of these the Jew was, at all events, suf
ficiently remarkable to be remembered, supposing he
had been seen drinking or loitering about ; but Giles
returned without any intelligence calculated to dis
pel or lessen the mystery.

On the next day fresh search was made, and the
inquiries renewed, but with no better success. On
the day following, Oliver and Mr. Maylie repaired to
the market-town, in the hope of seeing or hearing
something of the men there ; but this effort was
equally fruitless. After a few days the affair began
to be forgotten, as most affairs are, when wonder,
having no fresh food to support it, dies away of it
self.

Meanwhile Kose was rapidly recovering. She had
left her room ; was able to go out ; and, mixing once
more with the family, carried joy into the hearts of all.

But although this happy change had a visible ef
fect on the little circle, and although cheerful voices
and merry laughter were once more heard in the cot
tage, there was at times an unwonted restraint upon
some there, even upon Rose herself, which Oliver
could not fail to remark. Mrs. Maylie and her son
were often closeted together for fi long time ; and
more than once Rose appeared with traces of tears
upon her face. After Mr. Losberne had fixed a day
for his departure to Chertsey these symptoms in
creased; and it became evident that something was
in progress which affected the peace of the young
lady, and of somebody else besides.

At length, one morning, when Rose was alone in
the breakfast - parlor, Harry Maylie entered; and,
with some hesitation, begged permission to speak
with her for a few moments.

" A few a very few will suffice, Rose," said the
young man, drawing his chair toward her. " What
I shall have to say has already presented itself -to
your mind ; the most cherished hopes of my heart are
not unknown to you, though from my lips you have
not yet heard them stated."

Rose had been very pale from the moment of his
entrance, but that might have been the effect of her
recent illness. She merely bowed, and, bending
over some plants that stood near, waited in silence
for him to proceed.

"I I ought to have left here before," said
Harry.

" You should, indeed," replied Rose. "Forgive me
for saying so, but I wish you had."

"I was brought here by the most dreadful and
agonizing of all apprehensions," said the young man :
" the fear of losing the one dear being on whom my
every wish and hope are fixed. You had been dy
ing trembling between earth and heaven. AVe
know that when the young, the beautiful, and good
are visited with sickness, their pure spirits insensibly
turn toward their bright home of lasting rest ; we
know, Heaven help us! that the best and fairest of
our kind too often fade in blooming."

There were tears in the eyes of the gentle girl as
these words were spoken ; and when one fell upon
the flower over which she bent, and glistened bright
ly in its cup, making it more beautiful, it seemed as
though the outpouring of her fresh young heart
claimed kindred naturally with the loveliest things
in nature.

" A creature," continued the young man, passion
ately " a creature as fair and innocent of guile as
one of God's own angels, fluttered between life and
death. Oh! who could hope, when the distant
world to which she was akin half opened to her
view, that she would return to the sorrow and ca
lamity of this ! Rose, Rose, to know that you were
passing away like some soft shadow which a light
from above casts upon the earth ; to have no hope
that you would be spared to those who linger here ;
hardly to know a reason why you should be ; to feel
that you belonged to that bright sphere whither so
many of the fairest and the best have winged their
early flight ; and yet to pray, amidst all these con
solations, that you might be restored to those who
loved you these were distractions almost too great
to bear. They were mine, by day and night : and

A LOVE SCENE.

Ill

with them came such a rushing torrent of fears, and
apprehensions, and selfish regrets, lest you should
die, and never know how devotedly I loved you, as
almost bore down sense and reason in its course.
You recovered. Day by day, and almost hour by
hour, some drop of health came back, and, mingling
with the spent and feeble stream of life which cir
culated languidly within you, swelled it again to a
high and rushing tide. I have watched you change
almost from death to life with eyes that turned blind
with their eagerness and deep atfection. Do not tell
me that you wish I had lost this ; for it has softened
in v heart to all mankind."

your hand, as in redemption of some old mute con
tract that had been sealed between us! That time
has not arrived ; but here, with no fame won, and no
young vision realized, I offer you the heart so long
your ow r n, and stake my all upon the words with
which you greet the offer."

"Your behavior has ever been kind and noble,"
said Rose, mastering the emotions by which she was
agitated. "As you believe that I am not insensible
or ungrateful, so hear my answer."

" It is, that I may endeavor to deserve you ; it is,
dear Rose ?"

"It is," replied Rose, "that you must endeavor to

'A FEtf A VEKY FEW WILL SUFFICE, BO8E," SAID TI1E YOUNG MAN, DBAWING UI8 O11AIB TOWABJ) IIEK.

" I did not mean that," said Rose, weeping ; " I
only wish you had left here, that you might have
turned to high and noble pursuits again ; to pursuits
well worthy of you."

" There is no pursuit more worthy of me, more
worthy of the highest nature that exists, than the
struggle to win such a heart as yours," said the young
man, taking her hand. " Rose, my own dear Rose !
For years for years I have loved you ; hoping to
win my way to fame, and then come proudly home
and tell you it had been pursued only for you to
share ; thinking, in my day-dreams, how I would re
mind you, in that happy moment, of the many silent
tokens I had given of a boy's attachment, and claim

forget me ; not as your old and dearly-attached com
panion, for that would wound me deeply, but as the
object of your love. Look into the world; think
how many hearts you would be proud to gain are
there. Confide some other passion to me, if you
will ; I will be the truest, warmest, and most faith
ful friend you have."

There was a pause, during which Rose, who had
covered her face with one hand, gave free vent to
her tears. Harry still retained the other.

"And your reasons, Rose," he said at length, in a
low voice ; " your reasons for this decision ?"

" You have a right to know them," rejoined Rose.
" You can say nothing to alter my resolution. It is

112

OLIVER TWIST.

a duty that I must perform. I owe it alike to oth
ers and to myself."

"To yourself?"

" Yes, Harry. I owe it to myself, that I, a friend
less, portionless girl, with a blight upon my name,
should not give your friends reason to suspect that I
had sordidly yielded to your first passion, and fast
ened myself, a clog, on all your hopes and projects.
I owe it to you and yours, to prevent you from op
posing, in the warmth of your generous nature, this
great obstacle to your progress in the world."

"If your inclinations chime with your sense of
duty " Harry began.

" They do not," replied Rose, coloring deeply.

" Then you return my love ?" said Harry. " Say
but that, dear Eose ; say but that, and soften the
bitterness of this hard disappointment !"

" If I could have done so, without doing heavy
wrong to him I loved," rejoined Rose, " I could
have "

" Have received this declaration very differently,"
said Harry. " Do not conceal that from me, at least,
Rose."

" I could," said Rose. " Stay !" she added, disen
gaging her hand, "why should we prolong this pain
ful interview ? Most painful to me, and yet produc
tive of lasting happiness, notwithstanding ; for it
icill be happiness to know that I once held the high
place in your regard which I now occupy, and every
triumph you achieve in life will animate me with
new fortitude and firmness. Farewell, Harry ! As
we have met to-day, we meet no more ; but in oth
er relations than those in which this conversation
would have placed us, we may be long and happily
entwined ; and may every blessing that the prayers
of a true and earnest heart can call down from the
source of all truth and sincerity cheer and prosper
you !"

"Another word, Rose," said Harry. " Your reason
in your own words. From your own lips let me
hear it !"

" The prospect before you," answered Rose, firmly,
" is a brilliant one. All the honors to which great
talents and powerful connections can help men in
public life are in store for you. But those connec
tions are proud; and I will neither mingle with
such as may hold in scorn the mother who gave me
life, nor bring disgrace or failure on the son of her
who has so well supplied that mother's place. In a
word," said the young lady, turning away, as her
temporary firmness forsook her, "there is a stain
upon my name which the world visits on innocent
heads. I will carry it into no blood but my own ;
and the reproach shall rest alone on me."

" One word more, Rose. Dearest Rose, one more !"
cried Harry, throwing himself before her. " If I had
been less less fortunate, the world would call it
if some obscure and peaceful life had been my des
tiny if I had been poor, sick, helpless would you
have turned from me then? Or has my probable
advancement to riches and honor given this scruple
birth?"

" Do not press me to reply," answered Rose. " The
question does not arise, and never will. It is unfair,
almost unkind, to urge it."

" If your answer be whai I almost dare to hope it

is," retorted Harry, " it will shed a gleam of happi
ness upon my lonely way, and light the path before
me. It is not an idle thing to do so much, by the ut
terance of a few brief words, for one who loves you
beyond all else. Oh, Rose ! in the name of my ar
dent and enduring attachment ; in the name of all I
have suffered for you, and all you doom me to under
go, answer me this one question !"

" Then, if your lot had been differently cast," re
joined Rose ; " if you had been even a little, but not
so far, above me ; if I could have been a help and
comfort to you in any humble scene of peace and re
tirement, and not a blot and drawback in ambitious
and distinguished crowds, I should have been spared
this trial. I have every reason to be happy, very
happy, now ; but then, Harry, I own I should have
been happier."

Busy recollections of old hopes, cherished as a girl
long ago, crowded into the mind of Rose while mak
ing this avowal ; but they brought tears with them,
as old hopes will when they come back .withered;
and they relieved her.

" I can not help this weakness, and it makes my
purpose stronger," said Rose, extending her hand.
" I must leave you now, indeed."

" I ask one promise," said Harry. " Once, and only
once more say within a year, but it may be much
sooner I may speak to you again on this subject for
the last time."

"Not to press me to alter my right determination,"
replied Rose, with a melancholy smile ; " it will be
useless."

" No," said Harry ; " to hear you repeat it, if you
will finally repeat it ! I will lay at your feet what
ever of station or fortune I may possess ; and if you
still adhere to your present resolution, will not seek,
by word or act, to change it."

"Then let it be so," rejoined Rose ; "it is but one
pang the more, and by that time I may be enabled to
bear it better."

She extended her hand again. But the young man
caught her to his bosom, and imprinting one kiss on
her beautiful forehead, hurried from the room.

CHAPTER XXXVI.

IS A VERY SHORT ONE, AND MAY APPEAR OF NO GREAT
IMPORTANCE IN ITS PLACE; BUT IT SHOULD BE READ
NOTWITHSTANDING, AS A SEQUEL TO THE LAST, AND A
KEY TO ONE THAT WILL FOLLOW WHEN ITS TIME AR
RIVES.

ND so you are resolved to be my traveling coni-
. panion this morning, eh ?" said the doctor, as
Harry Maylie joined him and Oliver at the breakfast-
table. " Why, you are not in the same mind or in
tention two half hours together !"

"You will tell me a different tale one of these
days," said Harry, coloring, without any perceptible
reason.

" I hope I may have good cause to do so," replied
Mr. Losberne ; " though I confess I don't think I
shall. But yesterday morning you had made up
your mind, in a great hurry, to stay here, and to ac
company your mother, like a dutiful sou, to the sea-

HARRY MATLIE AXD OLIVER.

113

side. Before noon yon announce that you are going
to do me the honor of accompanying me as far as I
go, on your road to London. And at night you urge
inc. with great mystery, to start before the ladies are
stirring ; the consequence of which is, that young
Oliver here is pinned down to his breakfast, when
he ought to be ranging the meadows after botanical
phenomena of all kinds. Too bad, isn't it, Oliver ?"

" I should have been very sorry not to have been
at home when you and Mr. Maylie went away, sir,"
rejoined Oliver.

" That's a fine fellow !" said the doctor ; " you shall
come and see me when you return. But, to speak
seriously, Harry, has any communication from the
great nobs produced this sudden anxiety on your
part to be gone ?"

" The great nobs," replied Harry, " under which
designation, I presume, you include my most stately
uncle, have not communicated with me at all since I
have been here ; nor, at this time of the year, is it
likely that any thing would occur to render necessa
ry my immediate attendance among them."

" Well," said the doctor, " you are a queer fellow.
But of course they will get you into Parliament at
the election before Christmas, and these sudden
sniffings and changes are no bad preparation for po
litical life. There's something in that. Good train
ing is always desirable, whether the race be for place,
cup, or sweepstakes."

Harry Maylie looked as if he could have followed
up this short dialogue by one or two remarks that
would have staggered the doctor not a little ; but he
contented himself with saying, " We shall see," and
pursued the subject no further. The post-chaise
droA~e up to the door shortly afterward ; and Giles
coming in for the luggage, the good doctor bustled
out, to see it packed.

" Oliver," said Harry Maylie, in a low voice, " let
me speak a word with you."

Oliver walked into the window-recess to which
Mr. Maylie beckoned him; much surprised at the
mixture of sadness and boisterous spirits which his
whole behavior displayed.

" You can write well now ?" said Harry, laying his
hand upon his arm.

" I hope so, sir," replied Oliver.

" I shall not be at home again, perhaps, for some
time ; I wish you would write to me say once a
fortnight, every alternate Monday, to the General
Post-office in London. \Vill you ?"

" Oh ! certainly, sir ; I shall be proud to do it," ex
claimed Oliver, greatly delighted with the commis
sion.

" I should like to know how how my mother and
Miss Maylie are," said the young man; "and you
can fill up a sheet by telling me what walks you
take, and what you talk about, and whether she
they, I mean seem happy and quite well. You un
derstand me?"

"OhT quite, sir, quite," replied Oliver.

" I would rather you did not mention it to them,"
said Harry, hurrying over his words ; " because it
might make my mother anxious to write to me ofteu-
er, and it is a trouble and worry to her. Let it be a
sccn-t between you and me; and mind you tell me
every thing ! I depend unon you."
H

Oliver, quite elated and honored by a sense of his
importance, faithfully promised to be secret and ex
plicit in his communications. Mr. Maylie took leave
of him, with many assurances of his regard and pro
tection.

The doctor was in the chaise ; Giles (who it had
been arranged, should be left behind) held the door
open in his hand, and the women-servants were in
the garden, looking on. Harry cast one slight glance
at the latticed window, and jumped into the car
riage.

"Drive on!" he cried, "hard, fast, full gallop!
Nothing short of flying will keep pace with me to
day."

" Halloo !" cried the doctor, letting down the front
glass in a great hurry, and shouting to the postilion ;
" something very short of flying will keep pace with
me. Do you hear ?"

Jingling and clattering, till distance rendered its
noise inaudible, and its rapid progress only percepti
ble to the eye, the vehicle wound its way along the
road, almost hidden in a cloud of dust : now wholly
disappearing, and now becoming visible again, as in
tervening objects, or the intricacies of the way, per
mitted. It was not until even the dusty cloud was
no longer to be seen that the gazers dispersed.

And there was one looker-on, who remained with
eyes fixed upon the spot where the carriage had dis
appeared long after it was many miles away; for,
behind the white curtain which had shrouded her
from view when Harry raised his eyes toward the
window, sat Eose herself.

" He seems in high spirits and happy," she said, at
length. " I feared for a time he might be otherwise.
I was mistaken. I am very, very glad."

Tears are signs of gladness as well as grief; but
those which coursed down Rose's face as she sat pen
sively at the window, still gazing in the same direc
tion, seemed to tell more of sorrow than of joy.

CHAPTER XXXVII.

IN WHICH THE READER MAY PERCEIVE A CONTRAST NOT
UNCOMMON IN MATRIMONIAL CASES.

MR. BUMBLE sat in the work-house parlor, with
his eyes moodily fixed on the cheerless grate,
whence, as it was summer-time, no brighter gleam
proceeded than the reflection of certain sickly rays
of the sun, which were sent back from its cold and
shining surface. A paper fly-cage dangled from the
ceiling, to which he occasionally raised his eyes in
gloomy thought ; and, as the heedless insects hov
ered round the gaudy net- work, Mr. Bumble would
heave a deep sigh, while a more gloomy shadow
overspread his countenance. Mr. Bumble was med
itating; it might be that the insects brought to
mind some painful passage in his own past life.

Nor was Mr. Bumble's gloom the only thing calcu
lated to awaken a pleasing melancholy in the bosom
of a spectator. There were not wanting other ap
pearances, and those closely connected with his own
person, which announced that a great change had
taken place in the position of his affairs. The laced
ccat and the cocked hat, where were they ? He still

114

OLIVER TWIST.

wore knee-breeches, aiid dark cotton stockings on his
nether limbs ; but they were not the breeches. The
coat was wide-skirted ; and in that respect like the
coat, but, oh, how different ! The mighty cocked hat
was replaced by a modest round one. Mr. Bumble
was no longer a beadle.

There are some promotions in life, which, inde
pendent of the more substantial rewards they offer,
acquire peculiar value and dignity from the coats
and waistcoats connected with them. A field-mar
shal has his uniform ; a bishop his silk apron ; a
counselor his silk gown ; a beadle his cocked hat.
Strip the bishop of his apron, or the beadle of his
hat and lace, what are they? Men. Mere men.
Dignity, and even holiness too, sometimes, are more
questions of coat and waistcoat than some people
imagine.

Mr. Bumble had married Mrs. Corney, and was
master of the work -house. Another beadle had
come into power. On him the cocked hat, gold-
laced coat, and staff had all three descended.

"And to-morrow two months it was done !" said
Mr. Bumble, with a sigh. " It seems a age."

Mr. Bumble might have meant that he had con
centrated a whole existence of happiness into the
short space of eight weeks ; but the sigh there was
a vast deal of meaning in the sigh.

" I sold myself," said Mr. Bumble, pursuing the
same train of reflection, " for six tea-spoons, a pair
of sugar-tongs, and a milk -pot, with a small quan
tity of second-hand furniture, and twenty pound in
money. I went very reasonable. Cheap, dirt cheap !"

" Cheap !" cried a shrill voice in Mr. Bumble's ear :
" you would have been dear at any price ; and dear
enough I paid for you, Lord above knows that !"

Mr. Bumble turned, and encountered the face of
his interesting consort, who, imperfectly compre
hending the few words she had overheard of his
complaint, had hazarded the foregoing remark at a
venture.

"Mrs. Bumble, ma'am!" said Mr. Bumble, with
sentimental sternness.

" Well !" cried the lady.

" Have the goodness to look at me," said Mr. Bum
ble, fixing his eyes upon her. (" If she stands such a
eye as that," said Mr. Bumble to himself, " she can
stand any thing. It is a eye I never knew to fail
with paupers. If it fails with her, my power is
gone.")

Whether an exceedingly small expansion of eye
be sufficient to quell paupers, who, being lightly fed,
are in no very high condition, or whether the late
Mrs. Corney was particularly proof against eagle
glances, are matters of opinion. The matter of fact
is, that the matron was in no way overpowered by
Mr. Bumble's scowl, but, on the contrary, treated it
with great disdain, and even raised a laugh thereat
which sounded as though it were genuine.

On hearing this most unexpected sound, Mr. Bum
ble looked, first incredulous, and afterward amazed.
He then relapsed into his former state, nor did he
rouse himself until his attention was again awakened
by the voice of his partner.

"Are you going to sit snoring there all day ?" in
quired Mrs. Bumble.

" I am going to sit here as long as I think proper,

ma'am," rejoined Mr. Bumble ; " and although I was
not snoring, I shall snore, gape, sneeze, laugh, or cry,
as the humor strikes me ; such being my preroga
tive."

" Tour prerogative !" sneered Mrs. Bumble, with
ineffable contempt.

" I said the word, ma'am," said Mr. Bumble. " The
prerogative of a man is to command."

"And what's the prerogative of a woman, in the
name of Goodness f ' cried the relict of Mr. Corney
deceased.

" To obey, ma'am," thundered Mr. Bumble. " Your
late unfortunate husband should have taught it you ;
and then, perhaps, he might have been alive now. I
wish he was, poor man !"

Mrs. Bumble seeing at a glance that the decisive
moment had now arrived, and that a blow struck for
the mastership on one side or other must necessarily
be final and conclusive, no sooner heard this allusion
to the dead and gone than she dropped into a chair,
and with a loud scream that Mr. Bumble was a hard
hearted brute, fell into a paroxysm of tears.

But tears were not the things to find their way to
Mr. Bumble's soul ; his heart was water-proof. Like
washable beaver hats that improve with rain, his
nerves were rendered stouter and more vigorous by
showers of tears, which, being tokens of weakness,
and so far tacit admissions of his own power, pleased
and exalted him. He eyed his good lady with looks
of great satisfaction, and begged, in an encouraging
manner, that she should cry her hardest : the exer
cise being looked upon by the faculty as strongly
conducive to health.

" It opens the lungs, washes the countenance, ex
ercises the eyes, and softens down the temper," said
Mr. Bumble. " So cry away."

As he discharged himself of this pleasantry, Mr.
Bumble took his hat from a peg, and putting it on,
rather rakishly, on one side, as a man might who felt
he had asserted his superiority in a becoming man
ner, thrust his hands into his pockets, and sauntered
toward the door, with much ease and waggishuess
depicted in his whole appearance.

Now, Mrs. Corney that was had tried the tears,
because they were less troublesome than a manual
assault ; but she was quite prepared to make trial
of the latter mode of proceeding, as Mr. Bumble was
not long in discovering.

The first proof he experienced of the fact was con
veyed in a hollow sound, immediately succeeded by
the sudden flying off of his hat to the opposite end
of the room. This preliminary proceeding laying
bare his head, the expert lady, clasping him tightly
round the throat with one hand, inflicted a shower
of blows (dealt with singular vigor and dexterity)
upon it with the other. This done, she created a
little variety by scratching his face and tearing his
hair ; and having, by this time, inflicted as much
punishment as she deemed necessary for the offense,
she pushed him over a chair, which was luckily well
situated for the purpose, and defied him to talk about
his prerogative again, if he dared.

" Get up !" said Mrs. Bumble, in a voice of com
mand. "And take yourself away from here, unless
you want me to do something desperate."

Mr. Bumble rose with a very rueful countenance,

THE MIGHTY FALLEN.

115

wondering much what something desperate might
be. Picking up his hat, he looked toward the door.

"Are you going ?" demanded Mrs. Bumble.

" Certainly, my dear, certainly," rejoined Mr. Bum
ble, making a quicker motion toward the door. " I
didn't intend to I'm going, my dear ! You are so
very violent, that really I

At this instant Mi's. Bumble stepped hastily for
ward to replace the carpet, which had been kicked
up in the scuffle. Mr. Bumble immediately darted
out of the room, without bestowing another thought
on his unfinished sentence, leaving the late Mrs. Cor-
iiey in full possession of the field.

Mr. Bumble was fairly taken by surprise, and fair
ly beaten. He had a decided propensity for bully
ing; derived no inconsiderable pleasure from the
exercise of petty cruelty ; and, consequently, was (it
is needless to say) a coward. This is by no means
a disparagement to his character ; for many official
personages, who are held in high respect and admi
ration, are the victims of similar infirmities. The
remark is made, indeed, rather in his favor than oth
erwise, and with a view of impressing the reader
with a just sense of his qualifications for office.

But the measure of his degradation was not yet
full.* After making a tour of the house, and think
ing, for the first time, that the poor-laws really were
too hard on people ; and that men who ran away
from their wives, leaving them chargeable to the
parish, ought, in justice, to be visited with no pun
ishment at all, but rather rewarded as meritorious
individuals who had suffered much ; Mr. Bumble
came to a room where some of the female paupers
were usually employed in washing the parish linen ;
whence the sound of voices in conversation now pro
ceeded.

" Hem !" said Mr. Bumble, summoning up all his
native dignity. " These women at least shall con
tinue to respect the prerogative. Halloo ! halloo
there ! What do you mean by this noise, you hus-
sics ?"

With these words, Mr. Bumble opened the door,
and walked in with a very fierce and angry manner ;
which was at once exchanged for a most humiliated
and cowering air, as his eyes unexpectedly rested on
the form of his lady wife.

" My dear," said Mr. Bumble, " I didn't know you
\vere here."

" Didn't know I was here !" repeated Mrs. Bumble.
" What do you do here f '

" I thought they were talking rather too much to
be doing their work properly, my dear," replied Mr.
Bumble, glancing distractedly at a couple of old
women at the wash-tub, who were comparing notes
of admiration at the work-house master's humility.

" Ton thought they were talking too much ?" said
Mrs. Bumble. " What business is it of yours ?"

"Why, my dear " urged Mr. Bumble, submis
sively.

"What business is it of yours?" demanded Mrs.
Bumble again.

" It's very true, you're matron here, my dear," sub
mitted Mr. Bumble ; " but I thought you mightn't be
iu the way just then."

" I'll tell you what, Mr. Bumble," returned his lady,
" we don't want any of your interference. You're a

great deal too fond of poking your nose into things
that don't concern you, making every body in the
house laugh the moment your back is turned, and
making yourself look like a fool every hour in the
day. Be off ; come !"

Mr. Bumble, seeing with excruciating feelings the
delight of the two old paupers, who were tittering
together most rapturously, hesitated for an instant.
Mrs. Bumble, whose patience brooked no delay,
caught up a bowl of soap-suds, and motioning him
toward the door, ordered him instantly to depart, on
pain of receiving the contents upon his portly person.

What could Mr. Bumble do ? He looked deject
edly round, and slunk away ; and, as he reached the
door, the titterings of the paupers broke into a shrill
chuckle of irrepressible delight. It wanted but this.
He was degraded in their eyes; he had lost caste
and station before the very paupers ; he had fallen
from all the height and pomp of beadleship to the
lowest depth of the most snubbed hen-peckery.

"All in two months !" said Mr. Bumble, filled with
dismal thoughts. "Two months! No more than
two months ago, I was not only my own master, but
every body else's, so far as the porochial work-house
was concerned, and now ! "

It was too much. Mr. Bumble boxed the ears of
the boy who opened the gate for him (for he had
reached the portal in his reverie), and walked dis
tractedly into the street.

He walked up one street, and down another, until
exercise had abated the first passion of his grief;
and then the revulsion of feeling made him thirsty.
He passed a great many public-houses, but at length
paused before one in a by-way, whose parlor, as he
gathered from a hasty peep over the blinds, was de
serted, save by one solitary customer. It began to
rain heavily at the moment. This determined him.
Mr. Bumble stepped in, and, ordering something to
drink as he pased the bar, entered the apartment
into which he had looked from the street.

The man who was seated there was tall and dark,
and wore a large cloak. He had the air of a stranger,
and seemed, by a certain haggardness in his look, as
well as by the dusty soils on his dress, to have trav
eled some distance. He eyed Bumble askance as he
entered, but scarcely deigned to nod his head in ac
knowledgment of his salutation.

Mr. Bumble had quite dignity enough for two:
supposing even that the stranger had been more fa
miliar ; so he drank his gin-and- water in silence, and
read the paper with great show of pomp and circum
stance.

It so happened, however, as it will happen very
often when men fall into company under such cir
cumstances, that Mr. Bumble felt every now and then
a powerful inducement, which he could not resist, to
steal a look at the stranger ; and that whenever he
did so, he withdrew his eyes, in some confusion, to
find that the stranger was at that moment stealing
a look at him. Mr. Bumble's awkwardness was en
hanced by the very remarkable expression of the
stranger's eye, which was keen and bright, but shad
owed by a scowl of distrust and suspicion, unlike
any thing he had ever observed before, and repulsive
to behold.

When they had encountered each other's glance

116

OLIVER TWIST.

several times in this way, the stranger, in a harsh,
deep voice, broke silence.

" Were you looking for me,' ; he said, " when you
peered in at the window ?"

" Not that I am aware of, unless you're Mr.
Here Mr. Bumble stopped short ; for he was curious
to know the stranger's name, and thought, in his im
patience, he might supply the blank.

"I see you were not," said the stranger, an ex
pression of quiet sarcasm playing about his mouth ;
"or you would have known my name. You don't
know it. I would recommend you not to ask for it."

" I meant no harm, young man," observed Mr.
Bumble, majestically.

"And have done none," said the stranger.

looking keenly into Mr. Bumble's eyes as he raised
them in astonishment at the question. " Don't scru
ple to answer freely, man. I know you pretty well,
you see."

" I suppose, a married man," replied Mr. Bumble,
shading his eyes with his hand, and surveying the
stranger from head to foot in evident perplexity, " is
not more averse to turning an honest penny when he
can, than a single one. Porochial officers are not so
well paid that they can afford to refuse any little
extra fee, when it comes to them in a civil and prop
er manner."

The stranger smiled, and nodded his head again ;
as much as to say, he had not mistaken his man ;
then rang the bell.

YOC LOOKING FOB ME," UE 8AII), "WHEN YOU PEERED IN AT TUB WIN

Another silence succeeded this short dialogue,
which was again broken by the stranger.

" I have seen you before, I think ?" said he. " You
were differently dressed at that time, and I only
passed you in the street, but I should know you
again. You were beadle here once, were you not ?"

" I was," said Mr. Bumble, in some surprise " po-
rochial beadle."

" Just so," rejoined the other, nodding his head. " It
was in that character I saw you. What are you now ?"

" Master of the work-house," rejoined Mr. Bumble,
slowly and impressively, to check any undue famil
iarity the stranger might otherwise assume. " Mas
ter of the work-house, young man !"

" You have the same eye to your own interest that
you always had, I doubt not T" resumed the stranger.

" Fill this glass again," he said, handing Mr. Bmn-
ble's empty tumbler to the landlord. "Let it be
strong and hot. You like it so, I suppose ?"

" Not too strong," replied Mr. Bumble, with a deli
cate cough.

" You understand what that means, landlord !''
said the stranger, dryly.

The host smiled, disappeared, and shortly after
ward returned with a steaming jorum, of which the
first gulp brought the water into Mr. Bumble's eyes.

" Now listen to me," said the stranger, after clos
ing the door and window. "I came down to this
place to-day to find you out ; and, by one of those
chances which the devil throws in the way of his
friends sometimes, you walked into the very room I
was sitting in while you were uppermost in my mind.

AXD HllS. BUMBLE.

117

I want some information from you. I don't ask you
to give it for nothing, slight as it is. Put up that,
to begin with."

As he spoke, he pushed a couple of sovereigns
across the table to his companion carefully, as though
unwilling that the chinking of money should be heard
without. When Mr. Bumble had scrupulously ex
amined the coins, to see that they were genuine, and
had put them up, with much satisfaction, in his
waistcoat-pocket, he went on :

" Carry your memory back let me see twelve
years, last winter."

" It's a long time," said Mr. Bumble. " Very good.
I've done it."

" The scene, the work-house."

"Good!"

" And the time, night."

" Yes."

"And the place, the crazy hole, wherever it was,
in which miserable drabs brought forth the life and
health so often denied to themselves gave birth to
puling children for the parish to rear ; and hid their
shame, rot 'em, in the grave."

" The lying-in room, I suppose ?" said Mr. Bumble,
not quite following the stranger's excited descrip
tion.

" Yes," said the stranger. "A boy was born
there."

"A many boys," observed Mr. Bumble, shaking his
head despondingly.

"A murrain on the young devils!" cried the
stranger; "I speak of one; a meek -looking, pale-
faced boy, who was apprenticed down here to a cof-
tiu-maker I wish he had made his coffin, and screwed
his body in it and who afterward ran away to Lon
don, as it was supposed."

" Why, you mean Oliver ! Young Twist !" said
Mr. Bumble ; " I remember him, of course. There
wasn't a obstinater young rascal "

" It's not of him I want to hear ; I've heard enough
of him," said the stranger, stopping Mr. Bumble in
the outset of a tirade on the subject of poor Oliver's
vices. " It's of a woman ; the hag that nursed bis
mother. Where is she ?"

" Where is she ?" said Mr. Bumble, whom the gin-
und-water had rendered facetious. " It would be
hard to tell. There's no midwifery there, which
ever place she's gone to ; so I suppose she's out of
employment, any way."

" What do you mean ?" demanded the stranger,
sternly.

" That she died last winter," rejoined Mr. Bumble.

The man looked fixedly at him when he had given
this information ; and although he did not withdraw
his eyes for some time afterward, his gaze gradually
became vacant and abstracted, and he seemed lost
in thought. For some time he appeared doubtful
whether he ought to be relieved or disappointed by
the intelligence ; but at length he breathed more
freely, and, withdrawing his eyes, observed that it
was no great matter. With that he rose, as if to
depart.

But Mr. Bumble was cunning enough ; and he at
once saw that an opportunity was opened for the
lucrative disposal of some secret in the possession of
his better half. He well remembered the night of

old Sally's death, which the occurrences of that day
had given him good reason to recollect, as the occa
sion on which he had proposed to Mrs. Corney ; and
although that lady had never confided to him the
disclosure of which she had been the solitary witness,
he had heard enough to know that it related to some
thing that had occurred in the old woman's attend
ance, as work-house nurse, upon the young mother
of Oliver Twist. Hastily calling this' circumstance
to mind, he informed the stranger, with an air of
mystery, that one woman had been closeted with the
old harridan shortly before she died ; and that she
could, as he had reason to believe, throw some light
on the subject of his inquiry.

" How can I find her f" said the stranger, thrown
off his guard ; and plainly showing that all his fears
(whatever they were) were aroused afresh by the in
telligence.

" Only through me," rejoined Mr. Bumble.

" When ?" cried the stranger, hastily.

" To-morrow," rejoined Bumble.

"At nine in the evening/' said the stranger, pro
ducing a scrap of paper, and writing down upon it
an obscure address by the water-side, in characters
that betrayed his agitation ; " at nine in the evening
bring her to me there. I needn't tell you to be se
cret. It's your interest."

With these words, he led the way to the door, after
stopping to pay for the liquor that had been drunk.
Shortly remarking that their roads were different,
he departed, without more ceremony than an ejn-
phatic repetition of the hour of appointment for the
following night.

On glancing at the address, the parochial function
ary observed that it contained no name. The stran
ger had not gone far, so he made after him to ask it.

"What do you want?" cried the man, turning
quickly round, as Bumble touched him on the arm.
" Following me !"

" Only to ask a question," said the other, pointing
to the scrap of paper. " What name am I to ask for ?"

"Monks!" rejoined the man; and strode hastily
away.

CHAPTER XXXVin.

CONTAINING AN ACCOUNT OF WHAT PASSED BETWEEN MR.
AND MRS. BUMBLE AND MR. MONKS AT THEIR NOCTUR
NAL INTERVIEW.

IT was a dull, close, overcast summer evening.
The clouds, which had been threatening all day.
spread out in a dense and sluggish mass of vapor,
already yielded large drops of rain, and seemed to
presage a violent thunder-storm, when Mr. and Mrs.
Bumble, turning out of the main street of the town,
directed their course toward a scattered little colony
of ruinous houses, distant from it some mile and a
half, or thereabout, and erected on a low unwhole
some swamp bordering upon the river.

They were both wrapped in old and shabby outer
garments, which might, perhaps, serve the double
purpose of protecting their persons from the rain
and sheltering them from observation. The husband
carried a lantern, from which, however, no light yet
shone, and trudged on a few paces in front, as though

118

OLIVER TWIST.

the way being dirty to give his wife the benefit
of treading in his heavy foot-prints. They went on
in profound silence ; every now and then Mr. Bum
ble relaxed his pace, and turned his head as if to
make sure that Ms helpmate was following ; then
discovering that she was close at his heels, he mend
ed his rate of walking, and proceeded, at a considera
ble increase of speed, toward their place of destination.

This was far from being a place of doubtful char
acter ; for it had long been known as the residence
of none but low ruffians, who, under various pre
tenses of living by their labor, subsisted chiefly on
plunder and crime. It was a collection of mere hov
els, some hastily built with loose bricks, others of
old worm-eaten ship-timber, jumbled together with
out any attempt at order or arrangement, and plant
ed, for the most part, within a few feet of the river's
bank. A few leaky boats drawn up on the mud, and
made fast to the dwarf wall which skirted it ; and
here and there an oar or coil of rope, appeared, at
first, to indicate that the inhabitants of these miser
able cottages pursued some avocation on the river ;
but a glance at the shattered and useless condition
of the articles thus displayed would have led a pass
er-by, without much difficulty, to the conjecture that
they were disposed there rather for the preservation
of appearances than with any view to their being
actually employed.

In the heart of this cluster of huts, and skirting
the river, which its upper stories overhung, stood a
large building, formerly used as a manufactory of
some kind. It had, in its day, probably furnished
employment to the inhabitants of the surrounding
tenements. But it had long since gone to ruin. The
rat, the worm, and the action of the damp, had weak
ened and rotted the piles on which it stood ; and a
considerable portion of the building had already sunk
down into the water ; while the remainder, tottering
and bending over the dark stream, seemed to wait
a favorable opportunity of following its old compan
ion, and involving itself in the same fate.

It was before this ruinous building that the wor
thy couple paused, as the first peal of distant thun
der reverberated in the air, and the rain commenced
pouring violently down.

" The place should be somewhere here," said Bum
ble, consulting a scrap of paper he held in his hand.

" Halloo there !" cried a voice from above.

Following the sound, Mr. Bumble raised his head,
and descried a man looking out of a door, breast-
high, on the second story.

" Stand still a minute," cried the voice ; " I'll be
with you directly." With which the head disap
peared,' and the door closed.

" Is that the man ?" asked Mr. Bumble's good lady.

Mr. Bumble nodded in the affirmative.

" Then mind what I told yon," said the matron ;
" and be careful to say as little as you can, or you'll
betray us at once."

Mr. Bumble, who had eyed the building with very
rueful looks, was apparently about to express some
doubts relative to the advisability of proceeding any
farther with the enterprise just then, when he was
prevented by the appearance of Monks, who opened
a small door, near which they stood, and beckoned
them inward.

" Come in !" he cried, impatiently, stamping his
foot upon the ground. " Don't keep me here !"

The woman, who had hesitated at first, walked
boldly in, without any other invitation. Mr. Bum
ble, who was ashamed or afraid to lag behind, fol
lowed ; obviously very ill at ease, and with scarcely
any of that remarkable dignity which was usually
his chief characteristic.

" What the devil made you stand lingering there
in the wet ?" said Monks, turning round and address
ing Bumble, after he had bolted the door behind
them.

" We we were only cooling ourselves," stammer
ed Bumble, looking apprehensively about him.

" Cooling yourselves !" retorted Monks. " Not all
the rain that ever fell, or ever will fall, will put as
much of hell's fire out as a man can carry about
with him. You won't cool yourselves so easily ; don't
think it !"

With this agreeable speech, Monks turned short
upon the matron, and bent his gaze upon her, till
even she, who was not easily cowed, was fain to
withdraw her eyes, and turn them toward the ground.

" This is the woman, is it ?" demanded Monks.

" Hem ! That is the woman," replied Mr. Bumble,
mindful of his wife's caution.

" You think women never can keep secrets, I sup
pose ?" said the matron, interposing, and returning,
as she spoke, the searching look of Monks.

" I know they will always keep one till it's found
out," said Monks.

" And what may that be ?" asked the matron.

" The loss of their own good name," replied Monks.
" So, by the same rule, if a woman's a party to a se
cret that might hang or transport her, I'm not afraid
of her telling it to any body ; not I ! Do you under
stand, mistress ?"

" No," rejoined the matron, slightly coloring as she
spoke.

" Of course you don't !" said Monks. " How should
you?"

Bestowing something half-way between a smile
and a frown upon his two companions, and again
beckoning them to follow him, the man hastened
across the apartment, which was of considerable ex
tent, but low in the roof. He was preparing to as
cend a steep staircase, or rather ladder, leading to
another floor of warehouses above, when a bright
flash of lightning streamed down the aperture, and
a peal of thunder followed, which shook the crazy
building to its centre.

" Hear it !" he cried, shrinking back. " Hear it !
Rolling and crashing on as if it echoed through a
thousand caverns where the devils were hiding from
it. I hate the sound !"

He remained silent for a few moments ; and then,
removing his hands suddenly from his face, showed,
to the unspeakable discomposure of Mr. Bumble, that
it was much distorted and discolored.

" These fits come over me, now and then," said
Monks, observing his alarm ; " and thunder some
times brings them on. Don't mind me now ; it's all
over for this once."

Thus speaking, he led the way up the ladder ; and
hastily closing the window-shutter of the room into
which it led, lowered a lantern which hung at the

MRS. BUMBLE MANAGES THE CONFERENCE.

119

end of a rope and pulley passed through one of the
heavy beams in the ceiling ; and which cast a dim
light upon an old table and three chairs that were
placed beneath it.

" Now," said Monks, when they had all three seat
ed themselves, " the sooner we come to our business,
the better for all. The woman knows what it is,
does she ?"

The question was addressed to Bumble; but his
wife anticipated the reply, by intimating that she
was perfectly acquainted with it.

" He is right in saying that you were with this hag
the night she died ; and that she told you something :

"About the mother of the boy you named," replied
the matron, interrupting him. " Yes."

"The first question is, of what nature was her
communication ?" said Monks.

" That's the second," observed the woman, with
much deliberation. "The first is, what may the
communication be worth ?"

"Who the devil can tell that, without knowing of
what kind it is ?" asked Monks.

" Nobody better than you, I am persuaded," an
swered Mrs. Bumble ; who did not want for spirit, as
her yoke-fellow could abundantly testify.

" Humph !" said Monks significantly, and with a
look of eager inquiry ; " there may be money's worth
to get, eh f

" Perhaps there may," was the composed reply.

" Something that was taken from her," said Monks.
" Something that she wore. Something that

" You had better bid," interrupted Mrs. Bumble.
" I have heard enough, already, to assure me that
you are the man I ought to talk to."

Mr. Bumble, who had not yet been admitted by
his better half into any greater share of the secret
than he had originally possessed, listened to this dia
logue with outstretched neck and distended eyes;
which he directed toward his wife and Monks, by
turns, in undisguised astonishment; increased, if
possible, when the latter sternly demanded what
sum was required for the disclosure.

"What's it worth to you?" asked the woman, as
collectedly as before.

" It may be nothing ; it may be twenty pounds,"
replied Monks. " Speak out, and let me know which."

"Add five pounds to the sum you have named;
give me five-and-twenty pounds in gold," said the
woman, " and I'll tell you all I know. Not before."

" Five -and -twenty pounds!" exclaimed Monks,
drawing back.

" I spoke as plainly as I could," replied Mrs. Bum
ble. " It's not a large sum, either."

" Not a large sum for a paltry secret that may be
nothing when it's told !" cried Monks, impatiently ;
"and which has been lying dead for twelve years
past or more !"

" Such matters keep well, and, like good wine, oft
en double their value in course of time," answered
the matron, still preserving the resolute indifference
she had assumed. " As to lying dead, there are those
who will lie dead for twelve thousand years to come,
or twelve million, for any thing you or I know, who
will tell strange tales at last !"

" What if I pay it for nothing ?" asked Monks, hes
itating.

" You can easily take it away again," replied the
matron. " I ain but a woman, alone here, and un
protected."

"Not alone, my dear, nor unprotected neither,"
submitted Mr. Bumble, in a voice tremulous with
fear : "J am here, my dear. And besides," said Mr.
Bumble, his teeth chattering as he spoke, "Mr. Monks
is too much of a gentleman to attempt any violence
on porochial persons. Mr. Monks is aware that I
am not a young man, my dear, and also that I am a
little run to seed, as I may say ; but he has heerd I
say I have no doubt Mr. Monks has heerd, my dear
that I am a very determined officer, with very un
common strength, if I'm once roused. I only want
a little rousing ; that's all."

As Mr. Bumble spoke, he made a melancholy feint
of grasping his lantern with fierce determination,
and plainly showed, by the alarmed expression of ev
ery feature, that he did want a little rousing, and not
a little, prior to making any very warlike demonstra
tion unless, indeed, against paupers, or other per
son or persons trained down for the purpose.

"You are a fool," said Mrs. Bumble, in reply; "and
had better hold your tongue."

" He had better have cut it out, before he came, if
he can't speak in a lower tone," said Monks, grimly.
" So ! He's your husband, eh ?"

" He my husband !" tittered the matron, parrying
the question.

" I thought as much, when you came in," rejoined
Monks, marking the angry glance which the lady
darted at her spouse as she spoke. ""So much the
better; I have less hesitation in dealing with two
people, when I find that there's only one will be
tween them. I'm in earnest. See here !"

He thrust his hand into a side-pocket ; and pro
ducing a canvas bag, told out twenty-five sovereigns
on the table, and pushed them over to the woman.

" Now," he said, " gather them up ; and when this
cursed peal of thunder, which I feel is coming up
to break over the house-top, is gone, let's hear your
story."

The thunder, which seemed in fact much nearer,
and to shiver and break almost over their heads,
having subsided, Monks, raising his face from the
table, bent forward to listen to what the woman
should say. The faces of the three nearly touched,
as the two men leaned over the small table in their
eagerness to hear, and the woman also leaned for
ward to render her whisper audible. The sickly
rays of the suspended lantern falling directly upon
them, aggravated the paleness and anxiety of their
countenances, which, encircled by the deepest gloom
and darkness, looked ghastly in the extreme.

"When this woman, that we called old Sally,died,"
the matron began, " she and I were alone."

" Was there no one by ?" asked Monks, in the same
hollow whisper; "no sick wretch or idiot in some
other bed ? No one who could hear, and might, by
possibility, understand f "

" Not a soul," replied the woman ; " we were alone.
/ stood alone beside the body when death came over
it."

"Good!" said Monks, regarding her attentively.
" Go on."

"She spoke of a young creature," resumed the

120

OLIVER TWIST.

matron, " who had brought a child into the world
some years before ; not merely in the same room, but
in the same bed, in which she then lay dying."

"Ay?" said Monks, with quivering lip, and glan
cing over his shoulder. " Blood ! How things come
about !"

"The child was the one you named to him last
night," said the matron, nodding carelessly toward
her husband ; " the mother this nurse had robbed."

" In life ?" asked Monks.

" In death," replied the woman, with something
like a shudder. " She stole from the corpse, when it
had hardly turned to one, that which the dead moth
er had prayed her, with her last breath, to keep for
the infant's sake."

" She sold it ?" cried Monks, with desperate eager
ness ; " did she sell it ? Where ? When ? To whom ?
How long before ?"

"As* she told me, with great difficulty, that she
had done this," said the matron, " she fell back and
died."

" Without saying more ?" cried Monks, in a voice
which, from its very suppression, seemed only the
more furious. " It's a lie ! I'll not be played with.
She said more. I'll tear the life out of you both, but
I'll know what it was."

" She didn't utter another word," said the woman,
to all appearance unmoved (as Mr. Bumble was very
far from being) by the strange man's violence ; " but
she clutched my gown violently with one hand, which
was partly closed; and when I saw that she was
dead, and sd removed the hand by force, I found it
clasped a scrap of dirty paper."

" Which contained " interposed Monks, stretch
ing forward.

" Nothing," replied the woman ; " it was a pawn
broker's duplicate."

" For what ?" demanded Monks.

" In good time I'll tell you," said the woman. " I
judge that she had kept the trinket for some time,
iu the hope of turning it to better account, and then
had pawned it ; and had saved or scraped together
money to pay the pawnbroker's interest year by year,
and prevent its running out; so that if any thing
came of it, it could still be redeemed. Nothing had
come of it ; and, as I. tell you, she died with the scrap
of paper, all worn and tattered, in her hand. The
time was out in two days; I thought something
might one day come of it too, and so redeemed the
pledge."

"Where is it now ?" asked Monks, quickly.

" There" replied the woman. And, as if glad to
be relieved of it, she hastily threw upon the table a
.small kid bag scarcely large enough for a French
watch, which Monks pouncing upon, tore open with
trembling hands. It contained a little gold locket,
in which were two locks of hair and a plain gold
wedding-ring.

" It has the word ' Agnes ' engraved on the in-
wide," said the woman. " There is a blank left for
the surname; and then follows the date, which is
within a year before the child was born. I found
out that,"

" And this is all ?" said Monks, after a close and
eager scrutiny of the contents of the little packet.

"All," replied the woman.

Mr. Bumble drew a long breath, as if he were glad
to find that the story was over, and no mention
made of taking the tive-and-twenty pounds back
again ; and now he toek courage to wipe off the per
spiration which had been trickling over his nose un
checked during the whole of the previous dialogue.

" I know nothing of the story beyond what I can
guess at," said his wife, addressing Monks, after a
short silence, " and I want to know nothing ; for it's
safer not. But I may ask you two questions, may I F

" You may ask," said Monks, with some show of
surprise ; " but whether I answer or not is another
question."

" Which makes three," observed Mr. Bumble,
essaying a stroke of facetiousness.

" Is that what you expected to get from me ?" de
manded the matron.

" It is," replied Monks. " The other question ?"

" What you propose to do with it ? Can it be used
against me ?"

" Never," rejoined Monks, " nor against me either.
See here ! But don't move a step forward, or your
life is not worth a bulrush."

With these words, he suddenly wheeled the table
aside, and pulling an iron ring in the boarding,
threw back a large trap-door which opened close at
Mr. Bumble's feet, and caused that gentleman to re
tire several paces backward with great precipitation.

" Look down," said Monks, lowering the lantern
into the gulf. " Don't fear me. I could have let
you down, quietly enough, when you were seated
| over it, if that had been my game."

Thus encouraged, the matron drew near to the
brink ; and even Mr. Bumble himself, impelled by
curiosity, ventured to do the same. The turbid
water, swollen by the heavy rain, was rushing rapid
ly on below ; and all other sounds were lost iu the
noise of its plashing and eddying against the green
and slimy piles. There had once been a water-mill
beneath ; the tide, foaming and chafing round the
few rotten stakes and fragments of machinery that
yet remained, seemed to dart onward, with a new
impulse, when freed from the obstacles which had
unavailingly attempted to stem its headlong course.

" If you flung a man's body down there, where
would it be to-morrow morning ?" said Monks,
swinging the lantern to and fro in the dark well.

" Twelve miles down the river, and cut to pieces
besides," replied Bumble, recoiling at the thought.

Monks drew the little packet from his breast,
where he had hurriedly thrust it, and tying it to a
leaden weight), which had formed a part of some
pulley and was lying on the floor, dropped it into
the stream. It fell straight, and true as a die, clove *
the water with a scarcely audible splash, and was
gone.

The three, looking into each other's faces, seemed
to breathe more freely.

" There !" said Monks, closing the trap-door, which
fell heavily back into its former position. " If the
sea ever gives up its dead, as books say it will, it
will keep its gold and silver to itself, and that trash
among it. We have nothing more to say, and may
break up our pleasant party."

" By all means," observed Mr. Bumble, with great
alacrity.

MR. SIRES AND HIS NURSE.

121

" You'll keep a quiet tongue in your head, will
you ?" said Monks, with a threatening look. I'm not
afraid of your wife."

" You may depend upon me, young man," answered
Mr. Bumble, bowing himself gradually toward the
ladder with excessive politeness. " On every body's
account, young man; 011 my own, you know, Mr.
Monks." '

" I am glad, for your sake, to hear it," remarked
Monks. " Light your lantern, and get away from
here as fast as you can."

It was fortunate that the conversation terminated
at this point, or Mr. Bumble, who had bowed himself
to within six inches of the ladder, would infallibly
have pitched headlong into the room below. He
lighted his lantern from that which Monks had de
tached from the rope and now carried in his hand ;
and, making no effort to prolong the discourse, de
scended in silence, followed by his wife. Monks
brought up the rear, after pausing on the steps to
satisfy himself that there were no other sounds to be
heard than the beating of the rain without, and the
rushing of the water.

They traversed the lower room slowly, and with
caution, for Monks started at every shadow; and
Mr. Bumble, holding his lantern a foot above the
ground, walked not only with remarkable care, but
with a marvelously light step for a gentleman of his
h'gure, looking nervously about him fbr hidden trap
doors. The gate at which they had entered was
softly unfastened and opened by Monks ; merely ex
changing a nod with their mysterious acquaintance,
the married couple emerged into the wet and dark
ness outside.

They were no sooner gone than Monks, who ap
peared to entertain an invincible repugnance to be
ing left alone, called to a boy who had been hidden
somewhere below. Bidding him go first and bear
the light, he rerarued to the chamber he had just
quitted.

CHAPTER XXXIX.

INTRODUCES SOME RESPECTABLE CHARACTERS WITH
WHOM THE READER IS ALREADY ACQUAINTED, AND
SHOWS HOW MONKS AND THE JEW LAID THEIR
WORTHY HEADS TOGETHER.

ON the evening following that upon which the
three worthies mentioned in the last chapter
disposed of their little matter of business as therein
narrated, Mr. William Sikes, awakening from a nap,
drowsily growled forth an inquiry what time of
night it was.

The room in which Mr. Sikes propounded this
question was not one of those he had tenanted pre
vious to the Chertsey expedition, although it was in
the same quarter of the town, and was situated at
no great distance from his former lodgings. It was
not, in appearance, so desirable a habitation as his
old quarters, being a mean and badly -furnished
apartment, of very limited size, lighted only by one
small window in the shelving roof, and abutting on
a close and dirty lane. Nor were there wanting oth
er indications of the good gentleman's having gone
down in the world of late ; for a great scarcity of

furniture, and total absence of comfort, together
with the disappearance of all such small movables
as spare clothes and linen, bespoke a state of ex
treme poverty, while the meagre and attenuated
condition of Mr. Sikss himself would have fully con
firmed these symptoms, if they had stood in any need
of corroboration.

The house-breaker was lying on the bed, wrapped
in his white great-coat, by way of dressing-gown, and
displaying a set of features in no degree improved
by the cadaverous hue of illness, and the addition
of a soiled night-cap, and a stiff black beard of a
week's growth. The dog sat at the bedside, now
eying his master with a wistful look, and now prick
ing his ears and uttering a low growl as some noise
in the street, or in the lower part of the house, at
tracted his attention. Seated by the window, busi
ly engaged in patching an old waistcoat which form
ed a portion of the robber's ordinary dress, was a fe
male, so pale and reduced with watching and pri
vation, that there would have been considerable dif
ficulty in recognizing her as the same Nancy who
has already figured in this tale, but for the voice in
which she replied to Mr. Sikes's question.

" Not long gone seven," said the girl. " How do
you feel to-night, Bill ?"

"As weak as water," replied Mr. Sikes, with an
imprecation on his eyes and limbs. "Here, lend us
a hand, and let me get off this thundering bed, any
how."

Illness had not improved Mr. Sikes's temper ; for,
as the girl raised him up and led him to a chair, he
muttered various curses on her awkwardness, and
struck her.

" Whining, are you?" said Sikes. "Come? don't
stand sniveling there. If you can't do any thing
better than that, cut off altogether. D'ye hear me ?"

"I hear you," replied the girl, turning her face-
aside, and forcing a laugh. " What fancy have you
got in your head now ?"

" Oh ! you've thought better of it, have you ?"
growled Sikes, marking the tear which trembled in
her eye. "All the better for you, you have."

" WTiy, you don't mean to say you'd be hard upon
me to-night, Bill," said the girl, laying her hand upon
his shoulder.

" No !" cried Mr. Sikes. " Why not ?"

" Such a number of nights," said the girl, with a
touch of woman's tenderness which communicated
something like sweetness of tone even to her voice,
" such a number of nights as I've been patient with
you, nursing and caring for you, as if you'd boon a
child ; and this the first that I've seen you like
yourself you wouldn't have served me as you did
just now, if you'd thought of that, would you?
Come, come ; say you wouldn't."

" Well, then," rejoined Mr. Sikes, " I wouldn't.
Why, damme, now the girl's whining again !"

" It's nothing," said the girl, throwing herself into
a chair. " Don't you seem to mind me. It'll soon
be over."

" What'll be over ?" demanded Mr. Sikes, in a sav
age votee. " What foolery are you up to now again ?
Get up and bustle about, and don't come over me
with your woman's nonsense."

At any other time this remonstrance, and the tone

122

OLIVER TWIST.

in which it was delivered, would have had the de
sired effect ; but the girl being really weak and ex
hausted, dropped her head over the back of the
chair and fainted, before Mr. Sikes could get out a
few of the appropriate oaths with which, oil similar
occasions, he was accustomed to garnish his threats.
Not knowing very well what to do, in this uncom
mon emergency for Miss Nancy's hysterics were
usually of that violent kind which the patient fights
and struggles out of without much assistance Mr.
Sikes tried a little blasphemy; and finding that
mode of treatment wholly ineffectual, called for as
sistance.

" What's the matter here, my dear ?" said Fagin,
looking in.

" Lend a hand to the girl, can't you ?" replied
Sikes, impatiently. " Don't stand chattering and
grinning at me !"

With an exclamation of surprise, Fagin hastened
to the girl's assistance, while Mr. John Dawkins (oth
erwise the Artful Dodger), who had followed his
venerable friend into the room, hastily deposited on
the floor a bundle with which he was laden ; and,
snatching a bottle from the grasp of Master Charles
Bates, who came close at his heels, uncorked it in a
twinkling with his teeth, and poured a portion of
its contents down the patient's throat, previously
taking a taste himself, to prevent mistakes.

" Give her a whiff of fresh air with the bellows,
Charley," said Mr. Dawkins, "and you slap her
hands, Fagin, while Bill undoes the petticuts."

These united restoratives, administered with great
energy especially that department consigned to
Master Bates, who appeared to consider his share in
the proceedings a piece of unexampled pleasantry -
were not long in producing the desired effect. The
girl gradually recovered her senses; and, staggering
to a chair by the bedside, hid her face upon the pil
low, leaving Mr. Sikes to confront the new-comers in
some astonishment at their unlooked-for appearance.

" Why, what evil wind has blowed you here ?" he
asked Fagin.

" No evil wind at all, my dear, for evil winds blow
nobody any good ; and I've brought something good
with me, that you'll be glad to see. Dodger, my
dear, open the bundle, and give Bill the little trifles
that we spent all our money on this morning."

In compliance with Mr. Fagin's request, the Artful
untied his bundle, which was of large size and form
ed of an old table-cloth, and handed the articles it
contained, one by one, to Charley Bates, who placed
them on the table, with various encomiums on their
rarity and excellence.

" Sitch a rabbit-pie, Bill !" exclaimed that young
gentleman, disclosing to view a huge pasty ; " sitch
delicate creeturs, with sitch tender limbs, Bill, that
the wery bones melt in your mouth and there's no
occasion to pick 'em ; half a pound of seven-and-six-
penuy green, so precious strong that if you mix it
with boiling water, it'll go nigh to blow the lid of
the tea-pot off; a pound and a half of moist sugar
that the niggers didn't work at all at, afore they got
it up to sitch a pitch of goodness oh no ! Tfc'o half-
quartern brans ; pound of best fresh ; piece of double
Glo'ster ; and, to wind up all, some of the richest sort
you ever lushed !"

Uttering this last panegyric, Master Bates pro
duced from one of his extensive pockets a full-sized
wine-bottle, carefully corked, Avhile Mr. Dawkins, at
the same instant, poured out a wine-glassful of raw
spirits from the bottle he carried, which the invalid
tossed down his throat without a moment's hesita
tion.

"Ah!" said Fagin, rubbing his hands with great
satisfaction. " You'll do, Bill ; you'll do now."

" Do !" exclaimed Mr. Sikes ; " I might have been
done for twenty times over afore you'd have done
any thing to help me. What do you mean by leav
ing a man in this state three weeks and more, you
false-hearted wagabond ?"

" Only hear him, boys !" said Fagin, shrugging his
shoulders. "And us come to bring him all these
beau-ti-ful things."

"The things is well enough in their way," ob
served Mr. Sikes, a little soothed, as he glanced over
the table ; " but what have you got to say for your
self, why you should leave me here down in the
mouth, health, blunt, and every thing else, and take
no more notice of me all this mortal time than if I
was that 'ere dog ? Drive him down, Charley !"

" I never see such a jolly dog as that !" cried Mas
ter Bates, doing as he was desired. " Smelling the
grub like a old lady a-going to market ! He'd make
his fortun on the stage, that dog would, and rewive
the drayma besides."

" Hold your din !" cried Sikes, as the dog retreated
under the bed, still growling angrily. " What have
you got to say for yourself, you withered old fence,
eh?"

"I was away from London a week and more, my
dear, on a plant," replied the Jew.

"And what about the other fortnight ?" demanded
Sikes. " What about the other fortnight that you've
left me lying here, like a sick rat in his hole ?"

" I couldn't help it, Bill. I can*t go into a long
explanation before company ; but I couldn't help it,
upon my honor."

" Upon your what?" growled Sikes, with excessive
disgust. " Here ! Cut me off a piece of that pie,
one of you boys, to take the taste of that out of my
mouth, or it'll choke me dead."

" Don't be out of temper, my dear," urged Fagin,
submissively. " I have never forgot you, Bill, never
once."

"No ! I'll pound it that you han't," replied Sikes,
with a bitter grin. "You've been scheming and
plotting away every hour that I have laid shivering
and burning here ; and Bill was to do this, and Bill
was to do that, and Bill was to do it, all, dirt cheap,
as soon as he got well, and was quite poor enough
for your work. If it hadn't been for the girl, I might
have died."

"There now, Bill," remonstrated Fagin, eagerly
catching at the word. "If it hadn't been for the
girl ! Who but poor ould Fagin was the means of
your halving such a handy girl about you ?"

" He says true enough there," said Nancy, coming
hastily forward. " Let him be ; let him be."

Nancy's appearance gave a new turn to the con
versation ; for the boys, receiving a sly wink from
the wary old Jew, began to ply her with liquor, of
which, however, she took very sparingly ; while Fa-

MR. CHITLING'S OPINION OF MR. CRACKIT.

123

gin, assuming an unusual flow of spirits, gradually
brought Mr. Sikes into a better temper, by affecting
to regasd his threats as a little pleasant banter, and,
moreover, by laughing very heartily at one or two
rough jokes, which, after repeated applications to
the spirit-bottle, he condescended to make.

" It's all very well," said Mr. Sikes ; " but I must
have some blunt from you to-night."

" I haven't a piece of coin about me," replied the
Jew.

"Then you've got lots at home," retorted Sikes;
" and I must have some from there."

" Lots !" cried Fagin, holding up his hands. " I
haven't so much as would "

" I don't know how much you've got, and I dare
say you hardly know yourself, as it would take a
pretty long time to count it," said Sikes, "but I
must have some to-night ; and that's flat."

"Well, well," said Fagin, with a sigh, "I'll send
the Artful round presently."

" You won't do nothing of the kind," rejoined Mr.
Sikes. " The Artful's a deal too artful, and would
forget to come, or lose his way, or get dodged by
traps, and so be perwented, or any thing for an ex
cuse, if you put him up to it. Nancy shall go to the
ken and fetch it, to make all sure ; and I'll lie down
and have a snooze while she's gone."

After a great deal of haggling and squabbling, Fa-
gin beat down the amount of the required advance
from five pounds to three pounds four-and-sixpence,
protesting, with many solemn asseverations, that that
would only leave him eighteen-peuce to keep house
with ; Mr. Sikes sullenly remarking that if he couldn't
get any more he must be content with that, Nancy
prepared to accompany him home, while the Dodger
and Master Bates put the eatables in the cupboard.
The Jew then, taking leave of his affectionate friend,
returned homeward, attended by Nancy and the boys :
Mr. Sikes, meanwhile, flinging himself on the bed,
and composing himself to sleep away the time until
the young lady's return.

In due course they arrived at Fagin's abode, where
they found Toby Crackit and Mr. Chitling intent
upon their fifteenth game at cribbage, which it is
scarcely necessary to say the latter gentleman lost,
and with it, his fifteenth and last sixpence, much to
the amusement of his young friends. Mr. Crackit,
apparently somewhat ashamed at being found relax
ing himself with a gentleman so much his inferior in
station and mental endowments, yawned, and inquir
ing after Sikes, took up his hat to go.

" Has nobody been, Toby ?" asked Fagin.

" Not a living leg," answered Mr. Crackit, pulling
up his collar ; " it's been as dull as swipes. You
ought to stand something handsome, Fagin, to rec
ompense me for keeping house so long. Damme, I'm
as flat as a juryman ; and should have gone to sleep
as fast as Newgate, if I hadn't had the good natur'
to amuse this youngster. Horrid dull, I'm blessed
if I ain't!"

With these and other ejaculations of the same
kind, Mr. Toby Crackit swept up his winnings, and
crammed them into his waistcoat .-pocket with a
haughty air, as though such small pieces of silver
were wholly beneath the consideration of a man of
his figure ; this done, he swaggered out of the room

with so much elegance and gentility, that Mr. Chit-
ling, bestowing numerous admiring glances on his
legs and boots till they were out of sight, assured
the company that he considered his acquaintance
cheap at fifteen sixpences an interview, and that he
didn't value his losses the snap of his little finger.

"Wot a rum chap you are, Tom!" said Master
Bates, highly amused by this declaration.

"Not a bit of it," replied Mr. Chitling. "Am I,
Fagin?"

"A very clever fellow, my dear," said Fagiu, pat
ting him on the shoulder, and winking to his other
pupils.

"And Mr. Crackit is a heavy swell; ain't he, Fa-
gin ?" asked Tom.

" No doubt at all of that, my dear."

"And it i a creditable thing to have his acquaint
ance ; ain't it, Fagin ?" pursued Tom.

"Very much so, indeed, my dear. They're only
jealous, Tom, because he won't give it to them."

"Ah!" cried Tom, triumphantly, "that's where it
is ! He has cleaned me out. But I can go and earn
some more when I like ; can't I, Fagin ?"

" To be sure you can, and the sooner you go the
better, Tom; so make up your loss at once, and
don't lose any more time. Dodger! Charley! It's
time you were on the lay. Come! It's near ten,
and nothing done yet."

In obedience to this hint, the boys, nodding to
Nancy, took up their hats and left the room ; the
Dodger and his vivacious friend indulging, as they
went, in many witticisms at the expense of Mr. Chit-
ling ; in whose conduct, it is but justice to say, there
was nothing very conspicuous or peculiar, inasmuch
as there are a great number of spirited young bloods
upon town who pay a much higher price than Mr.
Chitling for being seen in good society, and a great
number of fine gentlemen (composing the good so
ciety aforesaid) who establish their reputation upon
very much the same footing as flash Toby Crackit.

" Now," said Fagin, when they had left the room,
" I'll go and get you that cash, Nancy. This is only
the key of a little cupboard where I keep a few odd
things the boys get, my dear. I never lock up my
money, for I've got none to lock up, my dear ha !
ha ! ha ! none to lock up. It's a poor trade, Nancy,
and no thanks; but I'm fond of seeing the young
people about me, and I bear it all, I bear it all.
Hush!" he said, hastily concealing the key in his
breast; "who's that? Listen!"

The girl, who was sitting at the table with her
arms folded, appeared in no way interested in the
arrival, or to care whether the person, whoever he
'was, came or went, until the murmur of a man's
voice reached her ears. The instant she caught the
sound, she tore off her bonnet and shawl with the
rapidity of lightning, and thrust them under the ta
ble. The Jew, turning round immediately after
ward, she muttered a complaint of the heat in a tone
of languor that contrasted very remarkably with the
extreme haste and violence of this action, which,
however, had been unobserved by Fagin, who had
his back toward her at the time.

"Bah!" he whispered, as though nettled by the
interruption ; " it's the man I expected before ; he's
coming down stairs. Not a word about the money

124

OLIVER TWIST.

while he's here, Nance. He won't stop long. Not
ten minutes, my clear."

Laying his skinny forefinger upon his lip, the Jew
(iu-iied a candle to the door, as a man's step was
heard upon the stairs without. He reached it at
the same moment as the visitor, who, coming hastily
into the room, was close upon the girl before he ob
served her.

It was Monks.

" Only one of my young people," said Fagin, ob- '
serving that Monks drew back on beholding a stran
ger. " Don't move, Nancy."

The girl drew closer to the table, and glancing at
Monks with an air of careless levity, withdrew her
eyes ; but as he turned his toward Fagin, she stole
another look, so keen and searching, and full of pur
pose, that if there had been any by-stander to ob
serve the change, he could hardly have believed the
two looks to have proceeded from the same person.

" Any news ?" inquired Fagiu.

"Great."

"And and good?" asked Fagin, hesitating as
though he feared to vex the other man by being too
sanguine.

" Not bad, any way," replied Monks, with a smile.
" I have been prompt enough this time. Let me
have a word with you." .

The girl drew closer to the table, and made no of
fer to leave the room, although she could see that
Monks was pointing to her. The Jew, perhaps fear
ing she might say something aloud about the mon
ey if he endeavored to get rid of her, pointed up
ward, and took Monks out of the room.

" Not that infernal hole we were in before," she
could hear the man say as they went up stairs. Fa-
gin laughed ; and making some reply which did not
reach her, seemed, by the creaking of the boards, to
lead his companion to the second story.

Before the sound of their footsteps had ceased to
echo through the house, the girl had slipped off her
shoes ; and drawing her gown loosely over her head,
and muffling her arms in it, stood at the door, listen
ing with breathless interest. The moment the noise
ceased, she glided from the room, ascended the stairs
with incredible softness and silence, and was lost in
the gloom above.

The room remained deserted for a quarter of an
hour or more; the girl glided back with the same
unearthly tread; and, immediately afterward, the
two men were heard descending. Monks went at
once into the street, and the Jew crawled up stairs
again for the money. When he returned, the girl
was adj listing her shawl and bonnet, as if preparing
to be gone.

" Why, Nance," exclaimed the Jew, starting back
as he put down the candle, " how pale you are !"

" Pale !" echoed the girl, shading her eyes with her
hands, as if to look steadily at him.

"Quite horrible! What have you been doing to
yourself?"

' Nothing that I know of, except sitting in this
close place for I don't know how long and all," re
plied the girl, carelessly. " Come ! Let me get back ;
that's a dear."

With a sigh for every piece of money, Fagin told
the amount into her hand. They parted without

more conversation, merely interchanging a "good
night,"

When the girl got into the open street, she sat
down upon a door -step, and seemed for a few mo-
incuts wholly bewildered, and unable to pursue her
way. Suddenly she arose ; and hurrying on in a
direction quite opposite to that in which Sikes was
awaiting her return, quickened her pace, until it
gradually resolved into a violent run. After com
pletely exhausting herself, she stopped to take
breath ; and, as if suddenly recollecting herself, and
deploring her inability to do something she was bent
upon, wrung her hands and burst into tears.

It might be that her tears relieved her, or that she
felt the full hopelessness of her condition ; but she
turned back, and hurrying with nearly as great ra
pidity in the contrary direction, partly to recover
lost time, and partly to keep pace with the violent
current of her own thoughts, soon reached the dwell
ing where she had left the house-breaker.

If she betrayed any agitation when she presented
herself to Mr. Sikes, he did not observe it ; for mere
ly inquiring if she had brought the money, and re
ceiving a reply in the affirmative, he uttered a growl
of satisfaction, and replacing his head upon the pil
low, resumed the slumbers which her arrival had in
terrupted.

It was fortunate for her that the possession of
money occasioned him so much employment next
day in the way of eating and drinking, and withal
had so beneficial an effect in smoothing down the as
perities of his temper, that he had neither time nor
inclination to be very critical upon her behavior and
deportment. That she had all the abstracted and
nervous manner of one who is on the eve of some
bold and hazardous step which it has required no
common struggle to resolve upon, would have been
obvious to the lynx-eyed Fagin, who would most
probably have taken the alarm at once ; but Mr.
Sikes lacking the niceties of discrimination, and be
ing troubled with no more subtle misgivings than
those wliich resolve themselves into a dogged rough
ness of behavior toward every body ; and being, fur
thermore, in an unusually amiable condition, as has
been already observed, saw nothing unusual in her
demeanor, and, indeed, troubled himself so little
about her, that, had her agitation been far more per
ceptible than it was, it Avould have been very un
likely to have awakened his suspicions.

As that day closed in, the girl's excitement in
creased ; and, when night came on, and she sat by,
watching until the house-breaker should drink him
self asleep, there was an unusual paleness in her
cheek, and a fire iu her eye, that even Sikes observed
with astonishment.

Mr. Sikes being weak from the fever, was lying in
bed, taking hot water with his gin to render it less
inflammatory, and had pushed his glass toward Nan
cy to be replenished for the third or fourth time,
when these symptoms first struck him.

" Why, burn my body!" said the man, raising him
self on his hands as he stared the girl in the face.
" You look like a corpse come to life again. What'.s
the matter ?"

" Matter !" replied the girl. " Nothing. What do
vou look at me so hard for ?"

A COMPOSING DRAUGHT.

125

" What foolery is this ?" demanded Sikes, grasping
her by the arm aiid shaking her roughly. " What is
it ? What do you mean f What are you thinking of ?"

" Of many things, Bill," replied the girl, shivering,
and, as she did so, pressing her hands upon her eyes.
" But, Lord ! What odds in that ?''

The tone of forced gayety in which the last words
were spoken seemed to produce a deeper impression
on Sikes than the wild and rigid look which had
preceded them.

" I tell you wot it is," said Sikes ; " if you haven't
caught the fever, and got it comiu' on now, there's
something more than usual in the wind, and some-

" Now," said the robber, " come and sit aside
of me, and put on your own face, or I'll alter it
so that you won't know it again when you do want
it."

The girl obeyed. Sikes, locking her hand in his,
fell back upon the pillow, turning his eyes upon her
face. They closed, opened again, closed once more,
again opened. He shifted his position restlessly, and
after dozing again and again for two or three min
utes, and as often springing up with a look of terror
and gazing vacantly about him, was suddenly strick
en, as it were, while in the very attitude of rising,
into a deep and heavy sleep. The grasp of his hand

"THEN, STOOPING SOFTLY OVEB TUB BED, SHE KISSKD TIII

thing dangerous too. You're not a-going to No,
damme ! you wouldn't do that !"

" Do what ?" asked the girl.

" There ain't," said Sikes, fixing his eyes upon her,
and muttering the words to himself; "there ain't
a stauncher-hearted gal going, or I'd have cut her
throat three months ago. She's got the fever com
ing on ; that's it."

Fortifying himself with this assurance, Sikes
drained the glass to the bottom, and then, with
many grumbling oaths, called for his physic. The
girl jumped up with great alacrity, poured it quick
ly out, but with her back toward him, and held the
vessel to his lips, while he drank off the contents.

relaxed, the upraised arm fell languidly by his side,
and he lay like one in a profound trance.

" The laudanum has taken effect at last," murmur
ed the girl, as she rose from the bedside. " I may he
too late, even now."

She hastily dressed herself in her bonnet and
shawl, looking fearfully round from time to time, as
if, despite the sleeping draught, she expected every
moment to feel the pressure of Sikes's heavy haud
upon her shoulder; then, stooping softly over the
bed, she kissed the robber's lips, and then opening
and closing the room-door with noiseless touch, hur
ried from the house.

A watchman was crying half-past nine, down a

126

OLIVER TWIST.

dark passage through Avhich she had to pass in gaiii-
iiig the main thoroughfare.

" Has it long gone the half hour ?" asked the girl.

" It'll strike the hour in another quarter," said the
man, raising his lantern to her face.

"And I can not get there in less than an hour or
more," muttered Nancy, brushing swiftly past him,
and gliding rapidly down the street.

Many of the shops were already closing in the
back lanes and avenues through which she tracked
her way in making from Spitalfields toward the West-
End of London. The clock struck ten, increasing
her impatience. She tore along the narrow pave
ment, elbowing the passengers from side to side,
and darting almost under the horses' heads ; crossed
crowded streets, where clusters of persons were ea
gerly watching their opportunity to do the like.

" The woman is mad !" said the people, turning to
look after her as she rushed away.

When she reached the more wealthy quarter of
the town, the streets were comparatively deserted ;
and here her headlong progress excited a still great
er curiosity in the stragglers whom she hurried past. '
Some quickened their pace behind, as though to see
w r hither she was hastening at such an unusual rate,
and a few made head upon her, and looked back,
surprised at her undimiuished speed ; but they fell
off one by one, and when she neared her place of des
tination she was alone.

It was a family hotel in a quiet but handsome
street near Hyde Park. As the brilliant light of the
lamp which burned before its door guided her to the
spot, the clock struck eleven. She had loitered for
a few paces as though irresolute, and making up her
mind to advance, but the sound determined her, and
she stepped into the hall. The porter's seat was va
cant. She looked round with an air of incertitude,
and advanced toward the stairs.

" Now, young woman !" said a smartly-dressed fe
male, looking out from a door behind her, " who do
you want here ?"

" A lady who is stopping in this house," answered
the girl.

"A lady!" was the reply, accompanied with a
scornful look. " What lady f '

" Miss Maylie," said Nancy.

The young woman, who had by this time noted
her appearance, replied only by a look of virtuous
disdain, and summoned a man to answer her. To
him Nancy repeated her request.

" W T hat name am I to say ?" asked the waiter.

" It's of no use saying any," replied Nancy.

" Nor business ?" said the man.

" No, nor that neither," rejoined the girl. " I must
see the lady."

" Come !" said the man, pushing her toward the
door. " None of this. Take yourself off."

" I shall be carried out, if I go !" said the girl, vio
lently ; " and I can make that a job that two of you
won't like to do. Isn't there any body here," she
said, looking round, " that will see a simple message
carried for a poor wretch like me ?"

This appeal produced an effect on a good-tempered-
faced man-cook, who with some other of the servants
was looking on, and who stepped forward to interfere.

" Take it up for her, Joe, can't you ?" said this person.

" What's the good f ' replied the man. " You don't
suppose the young lady will see such as her, do you ?"

This allusion to Nancy's doubtful character raised
a vast quantity of chaste wrath iu the bosoms of four
house-maids, who remarked with great fervor that
the creature was a disgrace to her sex, and strong
ly advocated her being thrown ruthlessly into the
kennel.

" Do what you like with me," said the girl, turn
ing to the men again ; " but do what I ask you first,
and I ask you to give this message for God Almighty's
sake."

The soft-hearted cook added his intercession, and
the result was that the man who had first appeared
undertook its delivery.

" What's it to bef said the man, with one foot on
the stairs.

" That a young woman earnestly asks to speak to
Miss Maylie alone," said Nancy; "and that if the
lady will only hear the first word she has to say, she
will know whether to hear her business, or to have
her turned out-of-doors as an impostor."

" I say," said the man, " you're coming it strong."

" You give the message," said the girl, firmly, " and
let me hear the answer."

The man ran up stairs. Nancy remained, pale and
almost breathless, listening with quivering lip to
the very audible expressions of scorn, of which the
chaste hoiise-maids were very prolific, and of which
they became still more so when the man returned
and said the young woman was to walk up stairs.

" It's no good being proper in this world," said the
first house-maid.

" Brass can do better than the gold what has stood
the fire," said the second.

The third contented herself with wondering "what
ladies was made of;" and the fourth took the first in
a quartette of " Shameful !" with which the Dianas
concluded.

Regardless of all this, for she had weightier mat
ters at heart, Nancy followed the man, with trem
bling limbs, to a small antechamber lighted by a
lamp from the ceiling. Here he left her, and retired.

CHAPTER XL.

A STRANGE INTERVIEW, WHICH IS A SEQUEL TO THE LAST
CHAPTER.

THE girl's life had been squandered in the streets,
and among the most noisome of the stews and
dens of London, but there was something of the
woman's original nature left in her still ; and when
she heard a light step approaching the door opposite
to that by which she had entered, and thought of the
wide contrast which the small room would in anoth
er moment contain, she felt burdened with the sense
of her own deep shame, and shrunk as though she
could scarcely bear the presence of her with whom
she had sought this interview.

But struggling with these better feelings was pride
the vice of the lowest and most debased creatures
no less than of the high and self-assured. The mis
erable companion of thieves and ruffians, the fallen
outcast of low haunts, the associate of the scourings

TWO SISTEE-W01IEX.

127

of the jails and hulks, living within the shadow of
the gallows itself even this degraded being felt too
proud to betray a feeble gleam of the womanly feel
ing Avhich she thought a weakness, but which alone
connected her with that humanity of which her wast
ing life had obliterated so many, many traces when a
very child.

She raised her eyes sufficiently to observe that the
figure which presented itself was that of a slight and
beautiful girl ; then, bending them on the ground,
she tossed her head with affected carelessness as she
said:

" It's a hard matter to get to see you, lady. If I
had taken offense and gone away, as many would
have done, you'd have been sorry for it one day, and
not without reason either."

" I am very sorry if any one has behaved harshly
to you," replied Rose. " Do not think of that. Tell
me why you wished to see me. I am the person you
inquired for."

The kind tone of this answer, the sweet voice, the
gentle manner, the absence of any accent of haugh
tiness or displeasure, took the girl completely by sur
prise, and she burst into tears.

" Oh, lady! lady !" she said, clasping her hands pas
sionately before her face, " if there was more like you,
there would be fewer like me ; there would there
would !"

" Sit down," said Rose, earnestly. " W you are in
poverty or affliction, I shall be truly glad to relieve
you, if I can I shall, indeed. Sit down."

" Let me stand, lady," said the girl, still weeping,
" and do not speak to me so kindly till you know me
better. It is growing late. Is is that door shut f "

" Yes," said Rose, recoiling a few steps, as if to
be nearer assistance in case she should require it.
" Why ?"

" Because," said the girl, " I am about to put my
life, and the lives of others, in your hands. I am the
girl that dragged little Oliver back to old Fagiu's on
the night he went out from the house in Peafconville."

" You !" said Rose Maylie.

" I, lady !" replied the girl. " I am the infamous
creature you have heard of, that lives among the
thieves, and that never, from the first moment I
can recollect my eyes and senses opening on London
streets, have known any better life, or kinder words
than they have given me, so help me God ! Do not
mind shrinking openly from me, lady. I am young
er than you would think, to look at me, but I am
well used to it. The poorest women fall back as I
make my way along the crowded pavement."

" What dreadful things are these !" said Rose, in
voluntarily falling from her strange companion.

" Thank Heaven upon your knees, dear lady," cried
the girl, "that you had friends to care for and keep
you in your childhood, and that you were never in
the midst of cold and hunger, and riot and drunken
ness, and and something worse than all as I
have been from my cradle. I may use the word, for
the alley and the gutter were mine, as they will be
my death-bed."

" I pity you !" said Rose, in a broken voice. " It
wrings my heart to hear you !"

" Heaven bless you for your goodness !" rejoined
the girl. " If you knew what I am sometimes, you

would pity me, indeed. But I have stolen away
from those who would surely murder me if they
knew I had been here to tell you what I have over
heard. Do you know a man named Monks f

" No," said Rose.

" He knows you," replied the girl ; " and knew you
were here, for it was by hearing him tell the place
that I found you out."

" I never heard the name," said Rose.

" Then he goes by some other among us," rejoined
the girl, " which I more than thought before. Some
time ago, and soon after Oliver was put into your
house on the night of the robbery, I suspecting
this man listened to a conversation held between
him and Fagin in the dark. I found out, from what
I heard, that Monks the man I asked you about,
you know "

" Yes," said Rose, " I understand."

" That Monks," pursued the girl, " had seen him
accidentally with two of our boys on the day we first
lost him, and had known him directly to be the same
child that he was watching for, though I couldn't
make out why. A bargain was struck with Fagin,
that if Oliver was got back he should have a certain
sum; and he was to have more for making him a
thief, which this Monks wanted for some purpose of
his own."

" For what purpose ?" asked Rose.

" He caught sight of my shadow on the wall as I
listened, in the hope of finding out," said the girl ;
"and there are not many people besides me that
could have got out of their way in time to escape
discovery. But I did ; and I saw him no more till
last night."

"And what occurred then?"

" I'll tell you, lady. Last night he came again.
Again they went up stairs, and I, wrapping myself
up so that my shadow should not betray me, again
listened at the door. The first words I heard Monks
say were these : ' So the only proofs of the boy's
identity lie at the bottom of the river, and the old
hag that received them from the mother is rotting
in her coffin.' They laughed, and talked of his suc
cess in doing this ; and Monks, talking on about the
boy, and getting very wild, said that though he had
got the young devil's money safely now, he'd rather
have had it the other way; for what a game it
would have been to have brought down the boast
of the father's will by driving him through every
jail in town, and then hauling him up for some cap
ital felony which Fagin could easily manage, after
having made a good profit of him beside."

" What is all this ?" said Rose.

" The truth, lady, though it comes from my lips,"
replied the girl. " Then, he said, with oaths com
mon enough in my ears, but strange to yours, that if
he could gratify his hatred by taking the boy's life
without bringing his own neck in danger, he would;
but, as he couldn't, he'd be upon the watch to meet
him at every turn in life ; and if he took advantage
of his birth and history, he might harm him yet.
' In short, Fagin,' he says, ' Jew as you are, you never
laid such snares as I'll contrive for my young broth
er Oliver."

" His brother !" exclaimed Rose.

" Those were his words," said Xancy, glancing un-

128

OLIVER TWIST.

easily round, as she had scarcely ceased to do since
she began to speak, for a vision of Sikes haunted her
perpetually. "And more. When he spoke of you
and the other lady, and said it seemed contrived by
Heaveu, or the devil, against him, that Oliver should
come into your hands, he laughed, and said there
was some comfort in that too, for how many thou
sands and hundreds of thousands of pounds would
you not give, if you had them, to know who your
two-legged spaniel was."

" You do not mean," said Rose, turning very pale,
" to tell me that this was said in earnest ?"

" He spoke in hard and angry earnest, if a man ever
did," replied the girl, shaking her head. " He is an
earnest man when his hatred is up. I know many
who do worse things ; but I'd rather listen to them
all a dozen times than to that Monks once. It is
growing late, and I have to reach home without sus
picion of having been on such an errand as this. I
must get back quickly."

" But what can I do ?" said Rose. " To what use
can I turn this communication without you ? Back !
Why do you wish to return to companions you paint
in such terrible colors ? If you repeat this informa
tion to a gentleman whom I can summon in an in
stant from the next room, you can be consigned to
some place of safety without half an hour's delay."

" I wish to go back," said the girl. " I must go
back, because how can I tell such things to an in
nocent lady like you? because among the men I
have told you of there is one the most desperate
among them all that I can't leave ; no, not even to
be saved from the life I am leading now."

" Your having interfered in this dear boy's behalf
before," said Rose ; " your coming here, at so great a
risk, to tell me what you have heard ; your manner,
which convinces me of the truth of what you say ;
your evident contrition, and sense of shame ; all lead
me to believe that you might be yet reclaimed. Oh !"
said the earnest girl, folding her hands as the tears
coursed down her face, " do not turn a deaf ear to
the entreaties of one of your own sex ; the first the
first, I do believe, who ever appealed to you in the
voice of pity and compassion. Do hear my words,
and let me save you yet for better things."

"Lady," cried the girl, sinking on her knees, " dear,
sweet, angel lady, you are the first that ever blessed
me with such words as these ; and if I had heard
them years ago, they might have turned me from a
life of sin and sorrow ; but it is too late, it is too
late!"

"It is never too late," said Rose, " for penitence and
atonement."

" It is !" cried the girl, writhing in the agony of her
mind ; " I can not leave him now ! I could not be
his death."

" Why should you be ?" asked Rose.

" Nothing could save him," cried the girl. " If I
told others what I have told you, and led to their
being taken, he would be sure to die. He is the
boldest, and has been so cruel !" .

" Is it possible," cried Rose, " that for such a man
as this you can resign every future hope, and the
certainty of immediate rescue ? It is madness."

" I don't know what it is," answered the girl ; " I
only know that it is so, and not with me alone ; but

with hundreds of others as ba4 and wretched as my
self. I must go back. Whether it is God's wrath
for the wrong I have done, I do not know ; but I am
drawn back to him, through every suffering and ill-
usage ; and I should be, I believe, if I knew that I
was to die by his hand at last." '

"W T hat am I to do?" said Rose. "I should not
let you depart from me thus."

" You should, lady, and I know you will," rejoined
the girl, rising. " You will not stop my going, be
cause I have trusted in your goodness, and forced
no promise from you, as I might have done."

"Of what use, then, is the communication you
have made ?" said Rose. " This mystery must be in
vestigated, or how will its disclosure to me benefit
Oliver, whom you are anxious to serve ?"

" You must have some kind gentleman about you
that will hear it as a secret and advise you what to
do," rejoined the girl. t

" But where can I find you again when it is nec
essary ?" asked Rose. " I do not seek to know where
these dreadful people live, but where will you be
walking or passing at any settled period from this
time?"

" Will you promise me that you will have my se
cret strictly kept, and come alone, or with the only
other person that knows it, and that I shall not be
watched or followed ?" asked the girl.

" I promise you solemnly," answered Rose.

" Every Sunday night from eleven until the clock
strikes twelve," said the girl, without hesitation, "I
will walk on London Bridge, if I am alive."

" Stay another moment," interposed Rose, as the
girl moved hurriedly toward the door. " Think once
again on your own condition, and the opportunity
you have of escaping from it. You have a claim on
me, not only as the voluntary bearer of this intelli
gence, but as a woman lost almost beyond redemp
tion. Will you return to this gang of robbers, and
to this man, when a word can save you ? What fas
cination Ik it that can take you back and make you
cling to wickedness and misery? Oh! is there no
chord in your heart that I can touch ? Is there
nothing left to which I can appeal against this ter
rible infatuation ?"

" When ladies as young, and good, and beautiful
as you are," replied the girl, steadily, " give away
your hearts, love will carry you all lengths even
such as you, who have home, friends, other admirers,
every thing to fill them. When such as I, Avho have
no certain roof but the coffin-lid, and no Mend in
sickness or death but the hospital nurse, set our rot
ten hearts on any man, and let him fill the place
that has been a blank through all our wretched
lives, who can hope to cure us ? Pity us, lady pity
us for having only one feeling of the woman left,
and for having that turned by a heavy judgment
from a comfort and a pride, into a new means of vi
olence and suffering."

" You will," said Rose, after a pause, " take somo
money from me, which may enable you to live with
out dishonesty at all events, until we meet again .'"

" Not a penny," replied the girl, waving her hand.

" Do not close your heart against all my efforts to
help you," said Rose, stepping gently fonvard. " I
wish to serve you, indeed."

HOW TO ACT NOW?

129

" You would serve me best, lady," replied the girl,
wringing her hands, " if you could take my life at
once ; for I have felt more grief to think of what I
am to-night than I ever did before, and it would be
something not to die in the hell in which I have
lived. God bless you, sweet lady, and send as much
happiness on your head as I have brought shame on
mine !"

Thus speaking, and sobbing aloud, the unhappy
creature turned away ; while Rose Maylie, overpow
ered by this extraordinary interview, which had more
the resemblance of a rapid dream than an actual oc
currence, sank into a chair, and endeavored to collect
her wandering thoughts.

CHAPTER XLI.

CONTAINING FRESH DISCOVERIES, AND SHOWING THAT
SURPRISES, LIKE MISFORTUNES, SELDOM COME ALONE.

HER situation was, indeed, one of no common tri
al and difficulty. While she felt the most ea
ger and burning desire to penetrate the mystery in
which Oliver's history was enveloped, she could not
but hold sacred the confidence which the miserable
woman with whom she had just conversed had re
posed in her, as a young and guileless girl. Her
words and manner had touched Rose Maylie's heart ;
and, mingled with her love for her young charge, and
scarcely less intense, in its truth and fervor, was her
fond wish to win the outcast back to repentance and
hope.

They purposed remaining in London only three
days, prior to departing for some weeks to a distant
part of the coast. It was now midnight of the first
day. What course of action could she determine
upon which could be adopted in eight -and -forty
hours? Or how could she postpone the journey
without exciting suspicion ?

Mr. Losberne was with them, and would be for the
next two days; but Rose was too well acquainted
with the excellent gentleman's impetuosity, and fore
saw too clearly the wrath with which, in the first
explosion of his indignation, he would regard the in
strument of Oliver's recapture, to trust him with the
secret, when her representations in the girl's behalf
could be seconded by no experienced person. These
were all reasons for the greatest caution and most
circumspect behavior in communicating it to Mrs.
Maylie, whose first impulse would infallibly be to
hold a conference with the worthy doctor on the
subject. As to resorting to any legal adviser, even
if she had known how to do so, it was scarcely to be
thought of for the same reasons. Once the thought
occurred to her of seeking assistance from Harry;
but this awakened the recollection of their last part
ing, and it seemed unworthy of her to call him back,
when the tears rose to her eyes as she pursued
this train of reflection he might have by this time
learned to forget her, and to be happier away.

Disturbed by these different reflections ; inclining
now to one course and then to another, and again
recoiling from all, as each successive consideration
presented itself to her mind, Rose passed a sleepless
and anxious night. After more communing with

herself next day, she arrived at the desperate con
clusion of consulting Harry.

" If it be painful to him," she thought, " to come
back here, how painful it will be to me ! But per
haps he will not come; he may write, or he may
come himself, and studiously abstain from meeting
me he did when he went away. I hardly thought
he would ; but it was better for us both." And here
Rose dropped the pen and turned away, as though
the very paper which was to be her messenger should
not see her weep.

She had taken up the same pen and laid it down
again fifty times, and had considered and reconsid
ered the first line of her letter without writing the
first word, when Oliver, who had been walking in
the streets, with Mr. Giles for a body-guard, entered
the room in such breathless haste and violent agita
tion, as seemed to betoken some new cause of alarm.

" What makes you look so flurried ?" asked Rose,
advancing to meet him.

" I hardly know how ; I feel as if I should be
choked," replied the boy. "Oh dear! To think
that I should see him at last, and you should be able
to know that I have told you all the truth !"

" I never thought you had told us any thing but
the truth," said Rose, soothing him. " But what is
this ? of whom do you speak ?"

"I have seen the gentleman," replied Oliver, scarce
ly able to articulate, " the gentleman who was so
good to me Mr. Brownlow, that we have so often
talked about."

" Where ?" asked Rose.

" Getting out of a coach," replied Oliver, shedding
tears of delight, " and going into 'a house. I didn't
speak to bim I couldn't speak to him, for he didn't
see me, and I trembled so that I was not able to go
up to him. But Giles asked, for me, whether he
lived there, and they said he did. Look here," said
Oliver, opening a scrap of paper, " here it is ; here's
where he lives I'm going there directly ! Oh, dear
me, dear me ! What shall I do when I come to see
him and hear him speak again H'

With her attention not a little distracted by these
and a great many other incoherent exclamations of
joy, Rose read the address, which was Craven Street,
in the Strand. She very soon determined upon turn
ing the discovery to account.

"Quick!" she' said. "Tell them to fetch a hack
ney-coach, and be ready to go with me. I will take
you there directly, without a minute's loss of time.
I will only tell my aunt that we are going out for
an hour, and be ready as soon as you are."

Oliver needed no prompting to dispatch, and in
little more than five minutes they were on their way
to Craven Street. When they arrived there, Rose
left Oliver in the coach, under pretense of preparing
the old gentleman to receive him ; and sending up
her card by the servant, requested to see Mr. Brown-
low on very pressing business. The servant soon re
turned to beg that she would walk up stairs ; and
following him into an upper room, Miss. Maylie was
presented to an elderly gentleman of benevolent ap
pearance, in a bottle-green coat; at no great dis
tance from whom was seated another old gentleman,
in nankeen breeches and gaiters, who did not look
particularly benevolent, and who was sitting with

130

OLIVER TWIST.

his bauds clasped on the top of a thick stick, and
bis cbin propped thereupon.

" Dear me !" said the gentleman in the bottle-green
coat, hastily rising with great politeness, " I beg your
pardon, youug lady I imagined it was some impor
tunate person who I beg you will excuse me. Be
seated, pray."

" Mr. Brownlow, I believe, sir ?" said Rose, glan
cing from the other gentleman to the one who had
spoken.

" That is my name," said the old gentleman. " This
is my friend, Mr. Griinwig. Grim wig, will you leave
us for a few minutes ?"

" I believe," interposed Miss Maylie, " that at this
period of our interview I need not give that gentle
man the trouble of going away. If I am correctly
informed, he is cognizant of the business on which I
wish to speak to you."

Mr Brownlow inclined his head. Mr. Grimwig,
who had made one very stiff bow, and risen from his
chair, made another very stiff bow, and dropped into
it again.

" I shall surprise you very much, I have no doubt,"
said Rose,, naturally embarrassed ; " but you once
showed great benevolence and goodness to a very
dear young Mend of mine, and I am sure you will
take an interest in hearing of him again."

" Indeed !" said Mr. Brownlow.

" Oliver Twist you knew him as," replied Rose.

The words no sooner escaped her lips, than Mr.
Grimwig, who had been affecting to dip into a large
book that lay on the table, upset it with a great
crash, and falling back in his chair, discharged from
his features every expression but one of unmitigated
wonder, and indulged in a prolonged and vacant
stare ; then, as if ashamed of having betrayed so
much emotion, he jerked himself, as it were, by a
convulsion into his former attitude, and looking out
straight before him, emitted a long deep whistle,
which seemed at last not to be discharged on empty
air, but to die away in the iunermost recesses of his
stomach.

Mr. Brownlow was no less surprised, although his
astonishment was not expressed in the same eccen
tric manner. He drew his chair nearer to Miss May-
lie's, and said,

" Do me the favor, my dear young lady, to leave
entirely out of the question that gooduess and benev
olence of which you speak, and of which nobody else
knows any thing ; and if you have it in your power
to produce any evidence which will alter the unfa
vorable opinion I was once induced to entertain of
that poor child, in Heaven's name put me in posses
sion of it."

" A bad one ! I'll eat my head if he is not a bad
one !" growled Mr. Grimwig, speaking by some ven-
triloquial power, without moving a muscle of his
face.

" He is a child of a noble nature and a warm heart,"
said Rose, coloring ; "and that Power which has
thought fit to try him beyond his years has planted
in his breast affections and feelings which would do
honor to many who have numbered his days six
times over."

" I'm only sixty-one," said Mr. Grimwig, with the
same rigid face. "And, as the devil's in it if this

Oliver is not twelve years old at least, I don't see
the application of that remark."

" Do not heed my friend, Miss Maylie," said Mr.
Brownlow ; "he does not mean Avhafc he says."

" Yes he does," growled Mr. Grimwig.

" No, he does not," said Mr. Browulow, obviously
rising in wrath as he spoke.

" He'll eat his head, if he doesn't," growled Mr.
Grimwig.

" He would deserve to have it knocked off, if he
does," said Mr. Brownlow.

"And he'd uncommonly like to see any man offer
to do it," responded Mr. Grimwig, knocking his stick
upon the floor.

Having gone thus far, the two old gentlemen sev
erally took snuff, and afterward shook hands, accord
ing to their invariable custom.

" Now, Miss Maylie," said Mr. Brownlow, " to return
to the subject in which your humanity is so much in
terested. Will you let me know what intelligence
you have of this poor child ; allowing me to premise
that I exhausted every means in my power of dis
covering him, and that since I have been absent
from this country, my first impression that he had
imposed upon me, and had been persuaded by his
former associates to rob me, has been considerably
shaken."

Rose, who had had time to collect her thoughts,
at once related, in a few natural words, all that had
befallen Oliver since he left Mr. Brownlow's house ;
reserving Nancy's information for that gentleman's
private ear, and concluding with the assurance that
his only sorrow for some months past had been the
not being able to meet with his former benefactor
and friend.

" Thank God !" said the old gentleman. " This is
great happiness to me, great happiness. But you
have not told me where he is now, Miss Maylie. You
must pardon my finding fault with you but why
not have brought him ?"

"He is waiting in a coach at the door," replied
Rose.

"At this door!" cried the old gentleman. With
which he hurried out of the room, down the stairs,
up the coach-steps, and into the coach, without an
other word.

When the room-door closed behind him, Mr. Grim-
wig lifted up his head, and converting one of the
hind legs of his chair into a pivot, described three
distinct circles with the assistance of his stick and
the table, sitting in it all the time. After perform
ing this evolution, he rose and limped as fast as he
could up and down the room at least a dozen times,
and then stopping suddenly before Rose, kissed her
without the slightest preface.

" Hush !" he said, as the young lady rose in some
alarm at this unusual proceeding. " Don't be afraid.
I'm old enough to be your grandfather. You're a
sweet girl. I like you. Here they are !"

In fact, as he threw himself at one dexterous dive
into his former seat, Mr. Brownlow returned, accom
panied by Oliver, whom Mr. Grimwig received very
graciously ; and if the gratification of that moment
had been the only reward for all her anxiety and can-
in Oliver's behalf, Rose Maylie would have been well
repaid.

ME. BEOWNLOW'S HEAD FOR THINKING.

131

"There is somebody else who should uot be for
gotten, by-the-bye," said Mr. Brownlow, riiiging the
bell. " Seud Mrs. Bed win here, if you please."

The old housekeeper auswered the summons with
all dispatch ; and dropping a courtesy at the door,
waited for orders.

" Why, you get blinder every day, Bedwin," said
Mr. Brownlow, rather testily.

" Well, that I do, sir," replied the old lady. " Peo
ple's eyes, at my time of life, don't improve with age,
sir."

" I could have told you that," rejoined Mr. Brown-
low ; " but put on your glasses, and see if you can't
find out what you were wanted for, will you f '

The old lady began to rummage in her pocket for
her spectacles. But Oliver's patience was not proof
against this new trial ; and yielding to his first im
pulse, he sprang into her arms.

" God be good to me !" cried the old lady, embra
cing him ; " it is my innocent boy !"

" My dear old nurse !" cried Oliver.

" He would come back I knew he would," said
the old lady, holding him in her arms. " How well
he looks, and how like a gentleman's son he is dressed
again ! Where have you been this long, long while ?
Ah ! the same sweet face, but not so pale ; the same
soft eye, but not so sad. I have never forgotten them
or his quiet smile, but have seen them every day, side
by side with those of my own dear children, (lead and
gone since I was a lightsome young creature." Euu-
uiiig on thus, and now holding Oliver from her to
mark how he had grown, now clasping him to her
and passing her fingers fondly through his hair, the
good soul laughed and wept upon his neck by turns.

Leaving her and Oliver to compare notes at lei
sure, Mr. Brownlow led the way into another room,
and there heard from' Eose a full narration of her
interview with Nancy, which occasioned him no lit
tle surprise and perplexity. Rose also explained
her reasons for not confiding in her friend Mr. Los-
berne in the first instance. The old gentleman con
sidered that she had acted prudently, and readily un
dertook to hold solemn conference with the worthy
doctor himself. To afford him an early opportunity
for the execution of this design, it was arranged that
he should call at the hotel at eight o'clock that even
ing, and that in the mean time Mrs. Maylie should be
cautiously informed of all that had occurred. These
preliminaries adjusted, Eose and Oliver returned
home.

Eose had by no means overrated the measure of
the good doctor's wrath. Nancy's history was no
sooner unfolded to him, than he poured forth a
shower of mingled threats and execrations, threat
ened to make her the first victim of the combined in
genuity of Messrs. Blathers and Duff, and actually
put on his hat preparatory to sallying forth to ob
tain the assistance of those worthies. And doubt
less he would, in this first outbreak, have carried the
intention into effect without a moment's considera
tion of the consequences, if he had not been restrain
ed in part by corresponding violence on the" side of
Mr. Brownlow, who was himself of an irascible tem
perament, and partly by such arguments and repre
sentations as seemed best calculated to dissuade him
from Ms hot-brained purpose.

" Then what the devil is to be done ?" said the im
petuous doctor, when they had rejoined the two la
dies. " Are we to pass a vote of thanks to all these
vagabonds, male and female, and beg them to accept
a hundred pounds or so apiece, as a trifling mark of
our esteem, and some slight acknowledgment of their
kindness to Oliver ?"

" Not exactly that," rejoined Mr. Brownlow, laugh
ing, " but we must proceed gently and with great
care."

"Gentleness and care!" exclaimed the doctor.
" I'd send them, one and all, to "

" Never mind where," interposed Mr. Brownlow.
" But reflect whether sending them anywhere is like
ly to attain the object we have in view."

" What object ?" asked the doctor.

" Simply the discovery of Oliver's parentage, and
regaining for him the inheritance of which, if this
stcry be true, he has been fraudulently deprived."

" Ah !" said Mr. Losberue, cooling himself with his
pocket-handkerchief; "I almost forgot that."

" You see," pursued Mr. Brownlow, " placing this
poor girl entirely out of the question, and supposing
it were possible to bring these scoundrels to justice
without compromising her safety, what good should
we bring about ?"

" Hanging a few of them, at least, in all probabil
ity," suggested the doctor, "and transporting the
rest."

" Very good," replied Mr. Brownlow, smiling ; "but
no doubt they will bring that about for themselves
in the fullness of time ; and if we step in to forestall
them, it seems to me that we shall be performing a
very Quixotic act, in direct opposition to our own in
terest or at least to Oliver's, which is the same
thing."

" How ?" inquired the doctor.

" Thus. It is quite clear that we shall have ex
treme difficulty in getting to the bottom of this mys
tery, unless we can bring this man, Monks, upon his
knees. That can only be done by stratagem, and by
catching him when he is not surrounded by these
people. *For, suppose he were apprehended, we have
no proof against him. He is not even (so far as we
know, or as the facts appear to us) concerned with
the gang in any of their robberies. If he were not
discharged, it is very unlikely that he could receive
any further punishment than being committed to
prison as a rogue and vagabond ; and of course ever
afterward his mouth would be so obstinately closed
that he might as well, for our purposes, be deaf, dumb,
blind, and an idiot."

" Then," said the doctor, impetuously, " I put it to
you again, whether you think it reasonable that this
promise to the girl should be considered binding ; a
promise made with the best and kindest intentions,
but really

" Do not discuss the point, my dear young lady,
pray," said Mr. Brownlow, interrupting Eose as she
was about to speak. " The promise shall be kept.
I don't think it will, in the slightest degree, interfere
with our proceedings. But before we can resolve
upon any precise course of action, it will be necessa
ry to see the girl, to ascertain from her whether she
will point out this Monks, on the understanding that
he is to be dealt with by us, and not by the law ; or,

132

OLIVER TWIST.

if she will not or can not do that, to procure from
her such an account of his haunts and description of
his person as will enable us to identify him. She
can not he seen until next Sunday night ; this is
Tuesday. I would suggest that in the mean time we
remain perfectly quiet, and keep these matters secret
even from Oliver himself."

Although Mr. Losherne received with many wry
faces a proposal involving a delay of five whole days,
he was fain to admit that no better course occurred
to him just then ; and as both Rose and Mrs. May lie
sided very strongly with Mr. Brownlow, that gentle
man's proposition was carried unanimously.

" I should like," he said, " to call in the aid of my
friend Grimwig. He is a strange creature, but a
shrewd one, and might prove of material assistance
to us ; I should say that he was bred a lawyer, and
quitted the Bar in disgust because he had only one
brief and a motion of course, in twenty years, though
whether that is a recommendation or not, you must
determine for yourselves."

" I have no objection to your calling in your friend
if I may call in mine," said the doctor.

" We must put it to the vote," replied Mr. Brown-
low, " who may he be ?"

" That lady's son, and this young lady's very old
friend," said the doctor, motioning toward Mrs. May-
lie, and concluding with an expressive glance at her
niece.

Eose blushed deeply, but she did not make any
audible objection to this motion (possibly she felt in
a hopeless minority) ; and Harry Maylie and Mr. Grim-
wig were accordingly added to the committee.

" We stay in town, of course," said Mrs. Maylie,
"while there remains the slightest prospect of pros
ecuting this inquiry with a chance of success. I will
spare neither trouble nor expense in behalf of the ob
ject in which we are all so deeply interested, and I
am content to remain here, if it be for twelve mouths,
so long as you assure me that any hope remains."

"Good!" rejoined Mr. Brownlow. "And as I see
on the faces about me a disposition to inquire how it
happened that I was not in the way to corroborate
Oliver's tale, and had so suddenly left the kingdom,
let me stipulate that I shall be asked no questions
until such time as I may deem it expedient to fore
stall them by telling my own story. Believe me, I
make this request with good reason, for I might oth
erwise excite hopes destined never to be realized, and
only increase difficulties and disappointments already
quite numerous enough. Come ! Supper has been
announced, and young Oliver, who is all alone in the
next room, will have begun to think by this time that
we have wearied of his company, and entered into
some dark conspiracy to thrust him forth upon the
world."

With these words, the old gentleman gave his hand
to Mrs. Maylie, and escorted her into the supper-room.
Mr. Losberne followed, leading Rose, and the council
was, for the present, effectually broken up.

CHAPTER XLII.

AN OLD ACQUAINTANCE OF OLIVER'S, EXHIBITING DE
CIDED MAKKS OF GENIUS, BECOMES A PUBLIC CHARAC
TER IN THE METROPOLIS.

TTPON the night when Nancy, having lulled Mr.
l_J Sikes to sleep, hurried on her self-imposed mis
sion to Rose Maylie, there advanced toward London
by the Great North Road two persons, upon whom it
is expedient that this history should bestow some at
tention.

They were a man and woman ; or perhaps they
would be better described as a male and female : for
the former was one of those long-limbed, knock-
kneed, shambling, bony people, to whom it is diffi
cult to assign any precise age looking as they do,
when they are yet boys, like undergrown men, and
when they are almost men, like overgrown boys.
The woman was young, but of a robust and hardy
make, as she need have been to bear the weight of
the heavy bundle which was strapped to her back.
Her companion was not iucumbered with much lug-
gage, as there merely dangled from a stick which he
carried over his shoulder a small parcel wrapped in a
common handkerchief, and apparently light enough.
This circumstance, added to the length of his legs,
which were of unusual extent, enabled him with
much ease to keep some half dozen paces in advance
of his companion, to whom he occasionally turned
with an impatient jerk of the head, as if reproaching
her tardiness, and urging her to greater exertion.

Thus they had toiled along the dusty road, taking
little heed of any object within sight, save when
they stepped aside to allow a wider passage for the
mail-coaches which were whirling out of town, un
til they passed through Highgate archway ; when
the foremost traveler stopped and called impatiently
to his companion.

" Come on, can't yer ? What a lazybones ver are,
Charlotte !"

" It's a heavy load, I can tell you," said the female,
coming up, almost breathless with fatigue.

"Heavy! What are yer talking about? What
are yer made for ?" rejoined the male traveler, chang
ing his own little bundle as he spoke, to the other
shoulder. " Oh, there yer are, resting again ! Well,
if yer ain't enough to tire any body's patience out, I
don't know what is !"

" Is it much farther ?" asked the woman, resting
herself against a bank, and looking up with the per
spiration streaming from her face.

" Much farther ! Yer as good as there," said the
long-legged tramper, pointing out before him. " Look
there ! Those are the lights of London."

" They're a good two mile off, at least," said the
woman, despondingly.

"Never mind whether they're two mile off, or
twenty," said Noah Claypole, for he it was; "but
get up and come on, or I'll kick yer, and so I give
yer notice."

As Noah's red nose grew redder with anger, and
as he crossed the road while speaking, as if fully
prepared to put his threat into execution, the wom
an rose without any further remark, and trudged on
ward by his side.

" Where do you mean to stop for the night, Noah ?"

MB. CLAYPOLE AND LADY.

133

she asked, after they had walked a few hundred
yards.

" How should I know ?" replied Noah, whose tem
per had been considerably impaired by walking.

" Near, I hope," said Charlotte.

" No, not near," replied Mr. Claypole. " There !
Not near ; so don't think it."

"Why not?"

" When I tell yer that I don't mean to do a thing,
that's enough, without any why or because either,"
replied Mr. Claypole, with dignity.

" Well, you needn't be so cross," said his com
panion.

"A pretty thing it would be, wouldn't it, to go and
stop at the very first public-house outside the town,
so that Sowerberry, if he come up after us, might

" I took it for you, Noah, dear," rejoined Charlotte.

" Did I keep it ?" asked Mr. Claypole.

"No; you trusted in me, and let me carry it, like
a dear, and so you are," said the lady, chucking him
under the chin, and drawing her arm through his.

This was indeed the case ; but as it was not Mr.
Claypole's habit to repose a blind and foolish confi
dence in any body, it should be observed, in justice
to that gentleman, that he had trusted Charlotte to
this extent, in order that, if they were pursued, the
money might be found on her ; which would leave
him an opportunity of asserting his innocence of any
theft, and would greatly facilitate his chances of es
cape. Of course he entered, at this juncture, into no
explanation of his motives, and they walked on very
lovingly together.

' LOOK THERE ! THOSE AKE THE LIGHTS OP LONDON."

poke in his old nose, and have us taken back in a
cart with handcuffs on," said Mr. Claypole, in a jeer
ing tone. " No ! I shall go and lose myself among
the narrowest streets I can find, and not stop till we
come to the very out-of-the-wayest house I can set
eyes on. 'Cod, yer may thank yer stars I've got a
head ; for if we hadn't gone at first the wrong road
a purpose, and come back across country, yer'd have
been locked up hard and fast a week ago, my lady.
And serve yer right for being a fool."

" I know I ain't as cunning as you are," replied
Charlotte ; " but don't put all the blame on me, and
say / should have been locked up. You would have
been if I had been, any way."

" Yer took the money from the till, yer know yer
did," said Mr. Claypole.

In pursuance of this cautious plan, Mr. Claypole
went on, without halting, until he arrived at the
Angel at Islington, where he wisely judged, from
the crowd of passengers and number of vehicles, that
London began in earnest. Just pausing to observe
which appeared the most crowded streets, and con
sequently the most to be avoided, he crossed into
Saint John's Road, and was soon deep in the obscu
rity of the intricate and dirty ways, which, lying be
tween Gray's Inn Lane and Smithfield, render that
part of the town one of the lowest and worst that
improvement has left in the midst of London.

Through these streets Noah Claypole walked, drag
ging Charlotte after him ; now stepping into the ken
nel to embrace at a glance the whole external char
acter of some small public - house, now jogging on

134

OLIVER TWIST.

again, as some fancied appearance induced him to
believe it too public for his purpose. At length he
stopped in front of one more humble in appearance
and more dirty than any he had yet seen ; and, hav
ing crossed over and surveyed it from the opposite
pavement, graciously announced his intention of put
ting up for the night.

" So give us the bundle," said Noah, unstrapping
it from the woman's shoulders, and slinging it over
his own, " and don't yer speak except when yer
spoke to. What's the name of the house t-h-r
three what ?"

" Cripples," said Charlotte.

" Three Cripples," repeated Noah, " and a very
good sign too. Now, then ! Keep close at my heels,
and come along." With these injunctions, he pushed
the rattling door with his shoulder, and entered the
house, followed by his companion.

There was nobody in the bar but a young Jew,
who, with his two elbows on the counter, was read
ing a dirty newspaper. He stared very hard at Noah,
and Noah stared very hard at him. r

If Noah had been attired in his charity-boy's dress,
there might have been some reason for the Jew open
ing his eyes so wide; but as he had discarded the coat
and badge, and wore a short smock-frock over his leath
ers, there seemed no particular reason for his appear
ance exciting so much attention in a public-house.

" Is this the Three Cripples ?" asked Noah.

" That is the dabe of this ouse," replied the Jew.

"A gentleman we met on the road, coming up
from the country, recommended us here," said Noah,
nudging Charlotte, perhaps to call her attention to
this most ingenious device for attracting respect,
and perhaps to warn her to betray no surprise. " We
want to sleep here to-night."

" I'b dot certaid you cad," said Barney, who was the
attendant sprite ; " but I'll idquire."

" Show us the tap, and give us a bit of cold meat
and a drop of beer while yer inquiring, will yer ?"
said Noah.

Barney complied by ushering them into a small
back-room, and setting the required viands before
them ; having done which, he informed the travelers
that they could be lodged that night, and left the
amiable couple to their refreshment.

Now, this back-room was immediately behind the
bar, and some steps lower, so that any person con
nected with the house undrawing a small curtain,
which concealed a single pane of glass fixed in the
wall of the last-named apartment about five feet
from its flooring, could not only look down upon any
guests in the back-room without any great hazard
of being observed (the glass being in a dark angle of
the wall, between which and a large upright beam
the observer had to thrust himself), but could, by
applying his ear to the partition, ascertain with
tolerable distinctness their subject of conversation.
The landlord of the house hud not withdrawn his
'ye from this place of espial for five minutes, and
Barney had only just returned from making the com
munication above related, when Fagin, in the course
of his evening's business, came into the bar to inquire
after some of his young pupils.

" Hush !" said Barney : " stradegers id the next
roob."

" Strangers!" repeated the old man, in a whisper.

"Ah! Ad rub uds too," added Barney. "Frob
the cut-try, but subthig in your way, or I'b bistaked.''

Fagiu appeared to receive this communication with
great interest. Mounting a stool, he cautiously ap
plied his eye to the pane of glass, from which secret
post he could see Mr. Claypole taking cold beef from
the dish and porter from the pot, and administering
homeopathic doses of both to Charlotte, who sat pa
tiently by, eating and drinking at his pleasure.

"Aha!" he whispered, looking round to Barney,
" I like that fellow's looks. He'd be of use to us ;
he knows how to train the girl already. Don't make
as much noise as a mouse, my dear, and let me hear
'em talk let me hear 'em."

He again applied his eye to the glass, and turning
his ear to the partition, listened attentively, with a
subtle and eager look upon his face that might have
appertained to some old goblin.

" So I mean to be a gentleman," said Mr. Claypole,
kicking out his legs, and continuing a conversation
the commencement of which Fagiu had arrived too
late to hear. " No more jolly old coffins, Charlotte,
but a gentleman's life for me ; and, if yer like, yer
shall be a lady."

"I should like that well enough, dear," replied
Charlotte ; " but tills ain't to be emptied every day,.
and people to get clear off after it."

"Tills be blowed!" said Mr. Claypole; "there's
more things besides tills to be emptied."

" What do you mean ?" asked his companion.

" Pockets, women's ridicules, houses, mail-coaches,
banks !" said Mr. Claypole, rising with the porter.

" But you can't do all that, dear," said Charlotte.

" I shall look out to get into company with them
as can," replied Noah. " They'll be able to make us
useful someway or another. Why, you yourself are
worth fifty women ; I never see siich a precious sly
and deceitful creetur as yer can be when I let yer."

" Lor, how nice it is to hear you say so !" exclaim
ed Charlotte, imprinting a kiss upon his ugly face.

" There, that'll do ; don't yer be too affectionate,
in case I'm cross with yer," said Noah, disengaging
himself with great gravity. " I should like to be
the captain of some band, and have the whopping
of 'em, and follering 'em about, unbeknown to them
selves. That would suit me, if there was good prof
it; and if we could only get in with some gentle
men of this sort, I say it would be cheap at that
twenty-pound note you've got especially as we
don't very well know how to get rid of it our
selves."

After expressing this opinion, Mr. Claypole look
ed into the porter-pot with an aspect of deep wis
dom ; and having well shaken its contents, nodded
condescendingly to Charlotte, and took a draught,
wherewith he appeared greatly refreshed. He was
meditating another, when the sudden opening of t In
door and the appearance of a stranger interrupted
him.

The stranger was Mr. Fagin. And very amiable
he looked, and a very low bow he made as he ad
vanced, and. setting himself down at the nearest ta-
ble, ordered something to drink of the grinning Bar
ney.

"A pleasant night, sir, but cool for the time of

OPENING PRESENTS ITSELF.

135

year," said Fagin, rubbing his bands. " From the
country, I see, sir ?"

" How do yer see that ?" asked Noah Claypole.

" We have not so much dust as that in London,"
replied Fagin, pointing from Noah's shoes to those
of his companion, and from them to the two bundles.

"Yer a sharp feller," said Noah. "Ha! ha! only
hear that, Charlotte!"

" Why, one need be sharp in this town, my dear,"
replied the Jew, sinking his voice to a confidential
whisper; "and that's- the truth."

Fagin followed up this remark by striking the
side of his nose with his right forefinger a gesture
which Noah attempted to imitate, though not with
complete success, in consequence of his own nose not
being large enough for the purpose. However, Mr.
Fagiu seemed to interpret the endeavor as express
ing a perfect coincidence with his opinion, and put
about the liquor which Barney re-appeared with in
a very friendly manner.

" Good stuff that," observed Mr. Claypole, smack
ing his lips.

"Dear!" said Fagin. "A man need be always
emptying a till, or a pocket, or a woman's reticule,
or a house, or a mail-coach, or a bank, if he drinks it
regularly."

Mr. Claypole no sooner heard this extract from his
own remarks than he fell back in his chair, and
looked from the Jew to Charlotte with a counte
nance of ashy paleness and excessive terror.

" Don't mind me, my dear," said Fagin, drawing
his chair closer. " Ha ! ha ! it was lucky it was only
me that heard you by chance. It was very lucky it
was only me."

"I didn't take it," stammered Noah, no longer
stretching out his legs like an independent gentle
man, but coiling them up as well as he could under
his chair ; " it was all her doing ; yerVe got it now,
Charlotte, yer know yer have."

" No matter who's got it, or who did it, my dear!"
replied Fagin, glancing, nevertheless, with a hawk's
eye at the girl and the two bundles. " I'm in that
way myself, and I like you for it."

" In what way ?" asked Mr. Claypole, a little re
covering.

" In that way of business," rejoined Fagin; "and
so are the people of the house. You've hit the right
nail upon the head, and are as safe here as you could
be. There is not a safer place in all this town than
is The Cripples that is, when I like to make it so.
And I have taken a fancy to you and the young
woman ; so I've said the word, and you may make
your minds easy."

Noah Claypole's mind might have been at ease af
ter this assurance, but his body certainly was not ;
for he shuffled and writhed about into various un
couth positions, eying his new friend meanwhile
with mingled fear and suspicion.

" I'll tell you more," said Fagin, after he had reas-'
sured the girl by dint of friendly nods and muttered
encouragements. " I have got a friend that I think ;
can gratify your darling wish, and put you in the
right way, where you can take whatever department
of the business you think will suit you best at first,
and be taught all the others."

" Yer speak as if yer were iu earnest," replied Noah.

"What advantage would it be to me to be any
thing else ?" inquired Fagin, shrugging his shoul
ders. " Here ! Let me have a word with you out
side."

" There's no occasion to trouble ourselves to
move," said Noah, getting his legs by gradual degrees
abroad again. " She'll take the luggage up stairs
the while. Charlotte, see to them bundles !"

This mandate, which had been delivered with
great majesty, was obeyed without the slightest de
mur ; and Charlotte made the best of her way off
with the packages while Noah held the door open
and watched her out.

" She's kept tolerably well under, ain't she ?" he
asked, as he resumed his seat, in the tone of a keeper
who has tamed some wild animal.

" Quite perfect," rejoined Fagin, clapping him on
the shoulder. " You're a genius, my dear."

"Why, I suppose if I wasn't I shouldn't be here,"
replied Noah. . " But, I say, she'll be back if yer lose
time."

" Now, what do you think ?" said Fagin. " If you
was to like my friend, could you do better than join
him ?"

" Is he in a good way of business ; that's where it
is!" responded Noah, winking one of his little eyes.

" The top of the tree ; employs a power of hands ;
has the very best society iu the profession."

" Eegular town-maders ?" asked Mr. Claypole.

" Not a countryman among 'em ; and I don't think
he'd take you, even on my recommendation, if he
didn't run rather short of assistants just now," re
plied Fagin.

" Should I have to hand over ?" said Noah, slapping
his breeches-pocket.

"It couldn't possibly be done without," replied
Fagin, in a most decided manner.

" Twenty pound, though it's a lot of money !"

" Not when it's in a note you can't get rid of," re
torted Fagiu. " Number and date taken, I suppose ?
Payment stopped at the bank? Ah! It's not worth
much to him. It'll have to go abroad, and he
couldn't sell it for a great deal in the market."

" When could I see him ?" asked Noah, doubtfully.

" To-morrow morning."

" Where ?"

"Here?"

" Urn !" said Noah. " What's the wages ?"

" Live like a gentleman board and lodging, pipes
and spirits free half of all you earn, and half of all
the young woman earns," replied Mr. Fagiu.

Whether Noah Claypole, whose rapacity was none
of the least comprehensive, would have acceded
even to these glowing terms, had he been a perfectly
free agent, is very doubtful; but as he recollected
that, iu the event of his refusal, it was in the power
of his new acquaintance to give him up to justice
immediately (and more unlikely things had come to
pass), he gradually relented, and said he thought
that would suit him.

" But, yer see," observed Noah, " as she will be
able to do a good deal, I should like to take some
thing very light."

"A little fancy work ?'' suggested Fagin.

"Ah! something of that sort," replied Noah.
" What do you think would suit me, now ? Some-

136

OLIVER TWIST.

thing not too trying for the strength, and not very
dangerous, you know. That's the sort .of thing !"

" I heard you talk of something in the spy way
upon the others, my dear," said Fagiii. " My friend
wants somebody who would do that well, very
much."

" Why, I did mention that, and I shouldn't mind
turning my hand to it sometimes," rejoined Mr. Clay-
pole, slowly; "but it wouldn't pay by itself, you
know."

" That's true !" observed the Jew, ruminating, or
pretending to ruminate. " No, it might not."

" What do you think, then ?" asked Noah, anxious
ly regarding him. " Something in the sneaking way,
where it was pretty sure work, and not much more
risk than being at home."

" What do you think of the old ladies ?" asked Fa-
gin. " There's a good deal of money made in snatch
ing their bags and parcels and running round the
corner."

" Don't they holler out a good deal, and scratch
sometimes?" asked Noah, shaking his head. "I
don't think that would answer my purpose. Ain't
there any other line open ?"

" Stop !" said Fagiu, laying his hand on Noah's
knee. " The kinchin lay."

" What's that ?" demanded Mr. Claypole.

" The kinchins, my dear," said Fagin, " is the
young children that's sent on errands by their moth
ers with sixpences and shillings ; and the lay is just
to take their money away they've always got it
ready in their hands then knock 'em into the ken
nel, and walk off very slow, as if there were nothing
else the matter but a child fallen down and hurt it
self. Ha! ha! ha!"

"Ha! ha!" roared Mr. Claypole, kicking up his
legs in an ecstasy. " Lord, that's the very thing !"

" To be sure it is," replied Fagin ; " and you can
have a few good beats chalked out in Camden Town,
and Battle Bridge, and neighborhoods like that, where
they're always going errands ; and you can upset as
manv kinchins as you want, any hour in the day.
Hafha! ha!"

With this, Fagin poked Mr. Claypole in the side,
and they joined in a burst of laughter both long and
loud.

" Well, that's all right !" said Noah, when he had
recovered himself, and Charlotte had returned.
" What time to-morrow shall we say ?"

" Will ten do ?" asked Fagin, adding, as Mr. Clay-
pole nodded assent, "What name shall I tell my
good friend ?"

" Mr. Bolter," replied Noah, who had prepared him
self for such an emergency. " Mr. Morris Bolter.
This is Mrs. Bolter."

" Mrs. Bolter's humble servant," said Fagiu, bow
ing with grotesque politeness. " I hope I shall know
her better very shortly."

" Do you hear the gentleman, Charlotte ?" thun
dered Mr. Claypole.

" Yes, Noah dear !" responded Mrs. Bolter, extend
ing her hand.

" She calls me Noah, as a sort of fond way of talk
ing," said Mr. Morris Bolter, late Claypole, turning
to Fagin. " You understand?"

" Oh yes, I understand perfectly," replied Fagin,

telling the truth for once. "Good -night! Good
night !"

With many adieus and good wishes, Mr. Fagin
went his way. Noah Claypole, bespeaking his good
lady's attention, proceeded to enlighten her relative
to the arrangement he had made with all that haugh
tiness and air of superiority becoming, not only a
member of the sterner sex, but a gentleman who ap
preciated the dignity of a special appointment on the
kinchin lay in London and its vicinity.

CHAPTER XLIIL

WHEREIN IS SHOWN HOW THE ARTFUL DODGER GOT
INTO TROUBLE.

" 4 ND so it was you that was your own friend,
J_A_ was it ?" asked Mr. Claypole, otherwise Bolter,
when, by virtue of the compact entered into between
them, he had removed next day to Fagiu's house,
" 'Cod, I thought as much last night !"

" Every man's his own friend, rny dear," replied
Fagin, with his most insinuating grin. " He hasn't
as good an one as himself anywhere."

" Except sometimes," replied Morris Bolter, assum
ing the air of a man of the world. " Some people
are nobody's enemies but their own, yer know."

" Don't believe that," said Fagin. " When a man's
his own enemy, it's only because he's too much his
own friend ; not because he's careful for every body
but himself. Pooh! pooh! There ain't such a
thing in nature."

" There oughtn't to be, if there is," replied Mr.
Bolter.

" That stands to reason. Some conjurers say that
number three is the magic number, and some say
number seven. It's neither, my friend, neither. It's
number one."

" Ha ! ha !" cried Mr. Bolter. " Number one for
ever !"

" In a little community like ours, my dear," said
Fagin, who felt it necessary to qualify this position,
" we have a general number one ; that is, you can't
consider yourself as number one, without consider
ing me too as the same, and all the other young peo
ple."

" Oh, the devil !" exclaimed Mr. Bolter.

" You see," pursued Fagin, affecting to disregard
this interruption, " we are so mixed up together, and
identified in our interests, that it must be so. For
instance, it's your object to take care of number one
meaning yourself."

" Certainly," replied Mr. Bolter. " Yer about right
there."

" Well ! You can't take care of yourself, number
one, without taking care of me, number one."

"Number two, you mean," said Mr. Bolter, who
was largely endowed with the quality of selfishness.

," No, I don't !" retorted Fagin. " I'm of the same
importance to you, as you are to yourself."

" I say," interrupted Mr. Bolter, " yer a very nice
man, and I'm very fond of yer ; but we ain't quite
so thick together as all that comes to."

" Only think," said Fagin, shrugging his shoulders
and stretching out his hands, " only consider. You've

THE POST OF HONOR IS A NEWGATE STATION.

137

doiie what's a very pretty thing, and what I love you
for doing ; but what at the same time would put the
cravat round your throat, that's so very easily tied
and so very difficult to unloose in plain English,
the halter!"

Mr. Bolter put his hand to his neckerchief, as if he
felt it inconveniently tight, and murmured an assent,
qualified in tone but not in substance.

" The gallows," continued Fagin, " the gallows, my
dear, is an ugly finger-post, which points out a very
short and sharp turning that has stopped many a
bold fellow's career on the broad highway. To keep
in the easy road, and keep it at a distance, is object
number one with you."

" Of course it is," replied Mr. Bolter. " What do
yer talk about such things for ?"

" Only to show you my meaning clearly," said the
Jew, raising his eyebrows. " To be able to do that,
you depend upon me. To keep my little business all
snug, I depend upon you. The first is your number
one, the second my number one. The more you value
your number one, the more careful you must be of
mine ; so we come at last to what I told you at first
that a regard for number one-holds us all together,
and must do so, unless we would all go to pieces in
company."

" That's true," rejoined Mr. Bolter, thoughtfully.
" Oh ! yer a cunning old codger."

Mr. Fagin saw, with delight, that this tribute to
his powers was no mere compliment, but that he had
really impressed his recruit with a sense of his wily
genius, which it was most important that he should
entertain in the outset of their acquaintance. To
strengthen an impression so desirable and useful, he
followed up the blow by acquainting him, in some
detail, with the magnitude and extent of his opera
tions, blending truth and fiction together, as best
served his purpose, and bringing both to bear with
so much art that Mr. Bolter's respect visibly in
creased, and became tempered, at the same time,
with a degree of wholesome fear which it was high
ly desirable to awaken.

" It's this nmtual trust we have in each other
that consoles me under heavy losses," said Fagin.
; ' My best hand was taken from me yesterday morn
ing."

"You don't mean to say he died?" cried Mr.
Bolter.

" No, no," replied Fagin, " not so bad as that.
Not quite so bad."

" What ; I suppose he was :

" Wanted," interposed Fagin. " Yes, he was want
ed."

" Yery particular ?" inquired Mr. Bolter.

" No," replied Fagin, " not very. He was charged
with attempting to pick a pocket, and they found a
silver snuff-box on him his own, my dear, his own,
for he took snuff himself, and was very fond of it.
They remanded him till to-day, for they thought
they knew the owner. Ah! he was worth lifry
boxes, and I'd give the price of as many to have him
back. You should have known the Dodger, my
dear ; you should have known the Dodger."

" Well, but I shall know him, I hope ; don't yer
think so f ' said Mr. Bolter.

" I'm doubtful about it," replied Fagin, with a sigh.

" If they don't get any fresh evidence, it'll only be a
summary conviction, and we shall have him back
again after six weeks or so ; but if they do, it's a case
of lagging. They know what a clever lad he is, he'll
be a lifer. They'll make the Artful nothing less than
a lifer."

" What do yer mean by lagging and a lifer ?" de
manded Mr. Bolter. " What's the good of talking
in that way to me ; why don't yer speak so as I can
understand yer ?"

Fagin was about to translate these mysterious ex
pressions into the vulgar tongue ; and, being inter
preted, Mr. Bolter would have been informed that
they represented that combination of words, " trans
portation for life," when the dialogue was cut short
by the entry of Master Bates, with his hands in his
breeches-pockets, and his face twisted into a lock of
semi-comical woe.

" It's all up, Fagin," said Charley, when he and his
new companion had been made known to each other.

" What do you mean ?"

" They've found the gentleman as owns the box ;
two or three more's a-coming to 'dentify him ; and
the Artful's booked for a passage out," replied Master
Bates. " I must have a full suit of mourning, Fagin,
and a hat-band, to wisit him in afore he sets out
upon his travels. To think of Jack Dawkins lum
my Jack the Dodger the Artful Dodger going
abroad for a common twopenuy-half-penny sneeze-
box ! I never thought he'd a done it under a gold
watch, chain, and seals, at the lowest. Oh, why
didn't he rob some rich old gentleman of all his wal-
ables, and go out as a gentleman, and not like a com
mon prig, without no honor nor glory !"

With this expression of feeling for his unfortunate
friend, Master Bates sat himself on the nearest chair
with an aspect of chagrin and despondency.

" What do you talk about his having neither hon
or nor glory for !" exclaimed Fagin, darting an angry
look at his pupil. "Wasn't he always top-sawyer
among you all ? Is there one of you that could touch
him or come near him on any scent ! Eh ?"

" Not one," replied Master Bates, in a voice render
ed husky by regret ; " not one."

" Then what do you talk of?" replied Fagin, angri
ly ; " what are you blubbering for ?"

" 'Cause it isn't on the rec-ord, is it ?" said Charley,
chafed into perfect defiance of his venerable friend
by the current of his regrets ; " 'cause it can't come
out in the 'dictment ; 'cause nobody will never know
half of what he was. How will he stand in the New
gate Calendar ? P'raps not be there at all. Oh, my
eye, my eye, wot a blow it is !"

" Ha ! ha !" cried Fagiu, extending his right hand,
and turning to Mr. Bolter in a fit of chuckling which
shook him as though he had the palsy ; " see what a
pride they take in their profession, my dear. Ain't
it beautiful ?"

Mr. Bolter nodded assent; and Fagin, after con
templating the grief of Charley Bates for some sec
onds with evident satisfaction, stepped up to that
young gentleman and patted him on the shoulder.

"Never mind, Charley," said Fagin, soothingly;
" it'll come out, it'll be sure to come out. They'll all
know what a clever fellow he was ; he'll show it him
self, and not disgrace his old pals and teachers. Think

138

OLIVER TWIST.

how young he is too ! What a distinction, Charley,
to be lagged at his time of life !"

" Well, it is a honor, that is !" said Charley, a little
consoled.

" He shall have all he wants," continued the Jew.
"He shall be kept in the Stone Jug, Charley, like a
gentleman. Like a gentleman ! With his beer ev
ery day, and money in his pocket to pitch and toss
with, if he can't spend it."

"No, shall he, though ?" cried Charley Bates.

"Ay, that he shall," replied Fagin, " and we'll have
a big- wig, Charley one that's got the greatest gift
of the gab to carry on his defense ; and he shall
make a speech for himself too, if he likes ; and we'll
road it all in the papers 'Artful Dodger shrieks
of laughter here the court was convulsed' eh,
Charley, eh ?"

"Ha! ha!" laughed Master Bates, "what a lark
that would be, wouldn't it, Fagin ? I say, how the
Artful would bother ? em, wouldn't he ?"

" Would !" cried Fagin. " He shall he will !"

"Ah, to be sure, so he will," repeated Charley, rub
bing his hands.

" I think I see him now !" cried the Jew, bending
his eyes upon his pupil.

"So do I!" cried Charley Bates. "Ha! ha! ha!
so do I ! I see it all afore me, upon my soul I do, Fa-
gin. What a game ! What a regular game ! All
the big-wigs trying to look solemn, and Jack Daw-
kins addressing of 'em as intimate and comfortable
as if he was the judge's own son making a speech ar-
ter dinner ha ! ha ! ha !"

In fact, Mr. Fagin had so well humored his young
friend's eccentric disposition, that Master Bates, who
had at first been disposed to consider the imprisoned
Dodger rather in the light of a victim, now looked
upon him as the chief actor in a scene of most un
common and exquisite humor, and felt quite impa
tient for the arrival of the time when his old com
panion should have so favorable an opportunity of
displaying his abilities.

" We must know how he gets on to-day, by some
handy means or other," said Fagin. " Let me think."

" Shall I go ?" asked Charley.

"Not for the world," replied Fagin. "Are you
mad, my dear, stark mad, that you'd walk into the
very place where No, Charley, no. One is enough
to lose at a time."

" You don't mean to go yourself, I suppose ?" said
Charley, with a humorous leer.

" That wouldn't quite fit," replied Fagin, shaking
his head.

" Then why don't you send this new cove ?" asked
Master Bates, laying his hand on Noah's arm. " No
body knows him."

" Why, if he didn't mind" observed Fagin.

" Mind !" interposed Charley. " What should lie
have to mind ?"

" Really nothing, my dear," said Fagin, turning to
Mr. Bolter, " really nothing."

" Oh, I dare say about that, yer know,'' observed
Noah, backing toward the door, and shaking his
head with a kind of sober alarm. "No, no none
of that. It's not in my department, that ain't."

"Wot department has he got, Fagiu?" inquired
Master Bates, surveying Noah's lank form with much

disgust. " The cutting away when there's any thing
wrong, and the eating all the wittles when there's
every thing right ; is that his branch f '

" Never mind," retorted Mr. Bolter ; " and don't
yer take liberties with yer superiors, little boy, or
yer'll find yerself in the wrong shop."

Master Bates laughed so vehemently at this mag
nificent threat, that it was some time before Fagiu
could interpose, and represent to Mr. Bolter that he
incurred no possible danger in visiting the police-of
fice ; that, inasmuch as no account of the little affair
in which he had been engaged, nor any description
of his person, had yet been forwarded to the metrop
olis, it was very probable that he was not even sus
pected of having resorted to it for shelter ; and that
if he were properly disguised, it would be as safe a
spot for him to visit as any in London, inasmuch as
it would be, of all places, the very last to which he
could be supposed likely to resort of his own free
wiU.

Persuaded in part by these representations, biit
overborne in a much greater degree by his fear of
Fagin, Mr. Bolter at length consented, with a very
bad grace, to undertake the expedition. By Fagin's
directions, he immediately substituted for his own
attire a wagoner's frock, velveteen breeches, and
leather leggings, all of which articles the Jew had
at hand. He was likewise furnished with a felt hat
well garnished with turnpike tickets, and a carter's
whip. Thus equipped, he was to saunter into the
office, as some country fellow from Covent Garden
market might be supposed to do for the gratification
of his curiosity ; and as he was as awkward, ungain
ly, and raw-boned a fellow as need be, Mr. Fagiu had
no fear but that he would look the part to perfection.

These arrangements completed, he was informed
of the necessary signs and tokens by which to recog
nize the Artful Dodger, and was conveyed by Master
Bates through dark and winding ways to within a
very short distance of Bow Street. Having described
the precise situation of the office, and accompanied
it with copious directions how he was to walk straight
up the passage, and when he got into the yard take
the door up the steps on the right-hand side, and
pull off his hat as he went into the room, Charley
Bates bade him hurry on alone, and promised to bide
his return on the spot of their parting.

Noah Claypole, or Morris Bolter, as the reader
pleases, punctually followed the directions he had
received, which Master Bates being pretty well ac
quainted with the locality were so exact that he
was enabled to gain the magisterial presence with
out asking any question, or meeting with any inter
ruption by the way. He found himself jostled ajnoug
a crowd of people, chiefly women, who were huddled
together in a dirty, frowsy room, at the upper end of
which was a raised platform railed off from the rest,
with a dock for the prisoners on the left hand against
the wall, a box for the witnesses in the middle, and
a desk for the magistrates on the right ; the awful
locality last named being screened off by a partition
which concealed the bench from the common gaze,
and left the vulgar to imagine (if they could) the
full majesty of justice.

There were only a couple of women in the dock,
who were nodding to their admiring friends, Avhile

MR. BOLTER DISGUISED.

139

the clerk read some depositions to a couple of police
men and a man iu plain clothes who leaned over the
table. A jailer stood reclining against the dock-rail,
tapping his nose listlessly with a large key, except
when he repressed an undue tendency to conversa
tion among the idlers by proclaiming silence, or look
ed sternly up to bid some woman " Take that baby
out," when the gravity of justice was disturbed by
feeble cries, half-smothered in the mother's shawl,
from some meagre infant. The room smelled close
and unwholesome ; the walls were dirt-discolored,
and the ceiling blackened. There was an old smoky
bust over the mantel-shelf, and a dusty clock above
the dock the only thing present that seemed to go
on as it ought ; for depravity, or poverty, or an ha
bitual acquaintance with both, had left a taint on all
the animate matter, hardly less unpleasant than the
thick, greasy scum on every inanimate object that
frowned upon it.

Noah looked eagerly about him for the Dodger;
but although there were several women who would
have done very well for that distinguished charac
ter's mother or sister, and more than one man who
might be supposed to bear a strong resemblance to
his father, nobody at all answering the description
given him of Mr. Dawkius was to be seen. He wait
ed in a state of much suspense and uncertainty until
the women, being committed for trial, went flaunt
ing out, and then was quickly relieved by the ap
pearance of another prisoner who he felt at once
could be no other than the object of his visit.

It was indeed Mr. Dawkins, who, shuffling into the
office with the big coat sleeves tucked up as usual,
his left hand in his pocket, and his hat in his right
hand, preceded the jailer with a rolling gait alto
gether indescribable, and, taking his place in the
dock, requested, in an audible voice, to know what
he was placed in that 'ere disgraceful sitivation for.

" Hold your tongue, will you ?" said the jailer.

" I'm an Englishman, ain't I ?" rejoined the Dodger.
" Where are my priwileges ?"

" You'll get your privileges soon enough," retorted
the jailer, " and pepper with 'em."

" We'll see wot the Secretary of State for the
Home Affairs has got to say to the beaks, if I don't,"
replied Mr. Dawkins. " Now then ! wot is this here
business ? I shall thank the madg'strates to dispose
of this here little affair, and not to keep me while
they read the paper, for I've got an appointment
with a genelman iu the City ; and as I'm a man of
my word, and wery punctual in business matters,
he'll go away if I ain't there to my time, and then
pr'aps there won't be an action for damage against
them as kep me away. Oh no, certainly not !"

At this point, the Dodger, with a show of being
very particular with a view to proceedings to be had
thereafter, desired the jailer to communicate "the
names of them two files as was on the bench;"
which so tickled the spectators that they laughed
almost as heartily as Master Bates could have done
if he had heard the request.

" Silence there !" cried the jailer.

" What is this ?" inquired one of the magistrates.

" A pick-pocketing case, your worship."

"Has the boy ever been here before ?"

" He ought to have been a many times," replied

the jailer. " He has been pretty well everywhere
else. / know him well, your worship."

"Oh! you know me, do you?" cried the Artful,
making a note of the statement. "Wery good.
That's a case of deformation of character, any way."

Here there w y as another laugh, and another cry of
silence.

" Now, then, where are the witnesses ?" said the
clerk.

"Ah! that's right," added the Dodger. "Where
are they ? I should like to see 'em,"

This wish was immediately gratified, for a police
man stepped forward who had seen the prisoner at
tempt the pocket of an unknown gentleman in a
crowd, and, indeed, take a handkerchief therefrom,
which, being a very old one, he deliberately put
back again, after trying it on his own countenance.
For this reason he took the Dodger into custody as
soon as he could get near him, and the said Dodger,
being searched, had upon his person a silver snuff
box, with the owner's name engraved upon the lid.
This gentleman had been discovered on reference to
the Court Guide ; and being then and there present,
swore that the snuff-box was his, and that he had
missed it on the previous day, the moment he had
disengaged himself from the crowd before referred
to. He had also remarked a young gentleman in
the throng particularly active in making his way
about, and that young gentleman was the prisoner
before him.

" Have yon any thing to ask this witness, boy ?"
said the magistrate.

" I wouldn't abase myself by descending to hold
no conversation with him," replied the Dodger.

" Have you any thing to say at all ?"

" Do you hear his worship ask if you've any thing
to say ?" inquired the jailer, nudging the silent Dodg
er with his elbow.

" I beg your pardon," said the Dodger, looking up
with an air of abstraction. " Did you redress your
self to me, my man ?"

"I never see such an out-and-out young waga-
bond, your worship," observed the officer, with a
griu. " Do you mean to say any thing, you young
shaver ?"

" No," replied the Dodger, " not here, for this ain't
the shop for justice ; besides which, my attorney is
a-breakfasting this morning with the Wice-president
of the House of Commons ; but I shall have some
thing to say elsewhere, and so will he, and so will
a wery numerous and 'spectable circle of acqiiaint-
ance as'll make them beaks wish they'd never been
born, or that they'd got their footmen to hang 'em
up to their own hat-pegs 'afore they let 'em come out
this morning to try it on upon me. I'll

"There! He's fully committed!" interposed the
clerk. " Take him away."

" Come on," said the jailer.

" Oh, ah ! I'll come on," replied the Dodger, brush
ing his hat with the palm of his hand. "Ah 1 (to
the Bench) it's no use your looking frightened ; I
won't show you no mercy, not a ha'porth of it.
You'll pay for this, my fine fellers. I wouldn't be
you for something. I wouldn't go free, now, if you
was to fall down on your knees and ask me. Here,
carry me off to prison ! Take me away !"

140

OLIVER TWIST.

With these last words, the Dodger suffered him
self to be led oft" by the collar, threatening, till he
got into the yard, to make a parliamentary business
of it, and then grinning in the officer's face with great
glee and self-approval.

Having seen him locked up by himself in a little
cell, Noah made the best of his way back to where
he had left Master Bates. After waiting here some
time, he was joined by that young gentleman, who
had prudently abstained from showing himself until
he had looked carefully abroad from a snug retreat
aud ascertained that his new friend had not been fol
lowed by any impertinent person.

bered that both the crafty Jew and the brutal Sikes
had confided to her schemes which had been hidden
from all others, in the full confidence that she was
trustworthy, and beyond the reach of their suspicion.
Vile as those schemes were, desperate as were their
originators, and bitter as were her feelings toward Fa-
gin, who had led her, step by step, deeper and deeper
down into an abyss of crime and misery whence was
no escape, still there were times when, even toward
him, she felt some relenting lest her disclosure should
bring him within the iron grasp he had so long
eluded, and he should fall at last richly as he mer
ited such a fate by her hand.

"WUAT IS THIS?" INQUIRED ONE OP THE MAGISTRATES. 1< A PICK-POCKETING CASE, YOUB WO3SI1IP."

The two hastened back together, to bear to Mr. Fa-
gin the animating news that the Dodger was doing
full justice to his bringing up, and establishing for
himself a glorious reputation.

CHAPTER XLIV.

THE TIME ARRIVES FOR NANCY TO REDEEM HER PLEDGE
TO ROSE MAYLIE. SHE FAILS.

ADEPT as she was in all the arts of cunning and
dissimulation, the girl Nancy could not wholly
conceal the effect which the knowledge of the step
she had taken wrought upon her mind. She remem-

But these were the mere wanderings of a mind un
able wholly to detach itself from old companions and
associations, though enabled to fix itself steadily on
one object, and resolved not to be turned aside by
any consideration. Her fears for Sikes would have
been more powerful inducements to recoil while there
was yet time, but she had stipulated that her secret
should be rigidly kept; she had dropped no clue
which could lead to his discovery ; she had refused,
even for his sake, a refuge from all the guilt and
wretchedness that encompassed her and what more
could she do ! She was resolved.

Though all her mental struggles terminated in this
conclusion, they forced themselves upon her again

THE KEY TURNED ON NANCY.

141

and again, and left their traces too. She grew pale
and thin, even within a few days. At times she took
no heed of what was passing before her, or no part
in conversations where once she would have been the
loudest. At other times she laughed without merri
ment, and was noisy without cause or meaning. At
others often within a moment afterward she sat
silent and dejected, brooding with her head upon
her hands, while the very effort by which she roused
herself told, more forcibly than even these indica
tions, that she was ill at ease, and that her thoughts
were occupied with matters very different and dis
tant from those in course of discussion by her com
panions.

It was Sunday night, and the bell of the nearest
church struck the hour. Sikes and the Jew were
talking, but they paused to listen. The girl looked
up from the low seat on which she crouched and list
ened too. Eleven.

"An hour this side of midnight," said Sikes, rais
ing the blind to look out, and returning to his seat.
" Dark and heavy it is too. A good night for busi
ness this."

"Ah!" replied Fagin. "What a pity, Bill, my
dear, that there's none quite ready to be done."

"You're right for once," replied Sikes, gruffly.
" It is a pity, for I'm in the humor too."

Fagin sighed, and shook his head despondingly.

"We must make up for lost time when we've got
things into a good train. That's all I know," said
Sikes.

" That's the way to talk, my dear," replied Fagin,
venturing to pat him on the shoulder. " It does me
good to hear you."

" Does you good, does it !" cried Sikes. " Well, so
be it."

" Ha ! ha ! ha !" laughed Fagin, as if he were re
lieved by'even this concession. "You're like your
self to-night, Bill ! Quite like yourself."

" I don't feel like myself wnen you lay that with
ered old claw on my shoulder, so take it away," said
Sikes, casting off the Jew's hand.

" It makes you nervous, Bill reminds you of be
ing nabbed, does it ?" said Fagiu, determined not to
be offended.

" Eeminds me of being nabbed by the devil," re
turned Sikes. " There never was another man with
such a face as yours, unless it was your father, and
I suppose he is singeing his grizzled red beard by
this time, unless you came straight from the old 'un
without any father at all betwixt you; which I
shouldn't wonder at a bit."

Fagin offered no reply to this compliment; but,
pulling Sikes by the sleeve, pointed his finger toward
Nancy, who had taken advantage of the foregoing
conversation to put on her bonnet, and was now
leaving the room.

" Halloo !" cried Sikes. " Nance ! Where's the gal
going to at this time of night ?"

" Not far."

"What answer's that?" returned Sikes. "Where
axe you going ?"

" I say, not far."

"And I say, where ?" retorted Sikes. " Do you
hear me ?"

" I don't know where," replied the girl.

" Then I do," said Sikes, more in the spirit of ob
stinacy than because he had any real objection to
the girl going Avhere she listed. "Now r here. Sit
down."

" I'm not well. I told yon that before," rejoined
the girl. " I want a breath of air."

" Put your head out of the winder," replied Sikes.

" There's not enough there," said the girl. " I
want it in the street."

" Then you won't have it," replied Sikes. With
which assurance he rose, locked the door, took the
key out, and pulling her bonnet from her head, flung
it up to the top of an old press.

" There !" said the robber. " Now stop quietly
where you are, will you ?"

" It's not such a matter as a bonnet would keep
me," said the girl, turning very pale. "What do you
mean, Bill ? Do you know what you're doing ?"

" Know what I'm Oh !" cried Sikes, turning to
Fagin, "she's out of her senses, you know, or she
daren't talk to me in that way."

" You'll drive me on to something desperate," mut
tered the girl, placing both hands upon her breast as
though to keep down by force some violent outbreak.
" Let me go, will you this minute this instant !"

"No!" said Sikes.

"Tell him to let me go, Fagin. He had better.
It'll be better for him. Do you hear me?" cried
Nancy, stamping her foot upon the ground.

" Hear you !" repeated Sikes, turning round in his
chair to confront her. "Ay! And if I hear you for
half a minute longer, the dog shall have such a grip
on your throat as'll tear some of that screaming voice
out. Wot has come over you, you jade ? Wot is it ?"

" Let me go," said the girl with great earnestness ;
then sitting herself down on the floor before the
door, she said, "Bill, let me go; you don't know
what you are doing. You don't, indeed. For only
one hour do do !"

" Cut my limbs off one by one," cried Sikes, seiz
ing her roughly by the arm, " if I don't think the
girl's stark raving mad. Get up !"

" Not till you let me go not till you let me go
never never!" screamed the girl. Sikes looked on
for a minute, watching his opportunity, and sudden
ly pinioning her hands, dragged her, struggling and
wrestling with him by the way, into a small room ad
joining, where he sat himself on a bench, and, thrust
ing her into a chair, held her down by force. She
struggled and implored by turns until twelve o'clock
had struck, and then, wearied and exhausted, ceased
to contest the point any further. With a caution,
backed by many oaths, to make no more efforts to
go out that night, Sikes left her to recover at leisure
and rejoined Fagin.

"Whew!" said the house-breaker, wiping the per-:
spiration from his face. "Wot a precious strange
gal that is!"

" You may say that, Bill," replied Fagin, thought
fully. " You may say that."

" Wot did she take it into her head to go out to
night for, do you think ?" asked Sikes. " Come ;
you should know her better than me. Wot does it
mean ?"

"Obstinacy; woman's obstinacy, I suppose, my
dear."

142

OLIVER TWIST.

" Well, I suppose it is," growled Sikes. " I thought
I had tained her, but she's as bad as ever."

"Worse," said Fagin, thoughtfully. " I never
knew her like this, for such a little cause."

" Nor I," said Sikes. " I thiuk she's got a touch
of that fever in her blood yet, and it won't come out
eh?"

" Like enough."

" I'll let her a little blood, without troubling the
doctor, if she's took that way again," said Sikes.

Fagin nodded an expressive approval of this mode
of treatment.

" She was hanging about me all day, and night
too, when I was stretched on my back ; and you, like
a black-hearted wolf as you are, kept yourself aloof,"
said Sikes. "We was very poor too, all the time, and
I think, one way or other, it's worried and fretted
her ; and that being shut up here so long has made
her restless eh ?"

" That's it, rny dear," replied the Jew, in a whisper.
"Hush!"

As he uttered these words, the girl herself appear
ed and resumed her former seat. Her eyes were
swollen and red ; she rocked herself to and fro, toss
ed her head, and, after a little time, burst out laugh
ing.

"Why, now she's on the other tack!" exclaimed
Sikes, turning a look of excessive surprise on his
companion.

Fagin nodded to him to take no further notice
just then, and in a few minutes the girl subsided
into her accustomed demeanor. Whispering Sikes
that there was no fear of her relapsing, Fagin took
up his hat and bade him good-night. He paused
when he reached the room-door, and, looking round,
asked if somebody would light him down the dark
stairs.

" Light him down," said Sikes, who was filling his
pipe. " It's a pity he should break his neck him
self, and disappoint the sight -seers. Show him a
light."

Nancy followed the old man down stairs with a
candle. When they reached the passage, he laid his
finger on his lip, and drawing close to the girl, said,
in a whisper,

" What is it, Nancy, dear ?"

"What do you mean?" replied the girl, in the
same tone.

" The reason of all this," replied Fagin. " If he "
he pointed with his skinny forefinger up the stairs
" is so hard with you (he's a brute, Nance, a brute-
beast), why don't you

" Well ?" said the girl, as Fagin paused, with his
mouth almost touching her ear, and his eyes looking
into hers.

. "No matter just now. We'll talk of this again.
You have a friend in me, Nance a staunch friend.
I have the means at hand, quiet and close. If you
want revenge on those that treat you like a dog
like a dog ! worse than his dog, for he humors him
sometimes come to me. I say, come to me. He is
the mere hound of a day, but you know me of old,
Nance,"

" I know you well," replied the girl, without man
ifesting the least emotion. " Good-night."

She shrank back, as Fagin offered to lay his hand

on hers, but said good-night again in a steady voice,
and, answering his parting look with a nod of intelli
gence, closed the door between them.

Fagin walked toward his own home, intent upon
the thoughts that were working within his brain.
He had conceived the idea not from what had just
passed, though that had tended to confirm him, but
slowly and by degrees that Nancy, wearied of the
house-breaker's brutality, had conceived an attach
ment for some new friend. Her altered manner, her
repeated absences from home alone, her comparative
indifference to the interests of the gang for which
she had once been so zealous, and, added to these, her
desperate impatience to leave home that night at a
particular hour, all favored the supposition, and ren
dered it, to him at least, almost matter of certainty.
The object of this new liking was not among his
myrmidons. He would be a valuable acquisition
with such an assistant as Nancy, and must (thus Fa-
gin argued) be secured without delay.

There was another and a darker object to be gain
ed. Sikes knew too much, and his ruffian taunts
had not galled Fagin the less because the wounds
were hidden. The girl must know well that, if she
shook him off, she could never be safe from his fury,
and that it would be surely wreaked to the maim
ing of limbs, or perhaps the loss of life on the ob
ject of her more recent fancy. "With a little per
suasion," thought Fagin, " what more likely than
that she would consent to poison him? Women
have done such things, and worse, to secure the same
object before now. There Avould be the dangerous
villain, the man I hate, gone ; another secured in his
place ; and my influence over the girl, with a knowl
edge of this crime to back it, unlimited."

These things passed through the mind of Fagin
during the short time he sat alone in the house-break
er's room ; and with them uppermost in his thoughts,
he had taken the opportunity afterward afforded
him of sounding the girl in the broken hints he
threw out at parting. There was no expression of
surprise, no assumption of an inability to understand
his meaning. The girl clearly comprehended it. Her
glance at parting showed that.

But perhaps she would recoil from a plot to take
the life of Sikes, and that was one of the chief ends
to be attained. " How," thought Fagiu, as he crept
homeward, " can I increase my influence with her ?
what new power can I acquire ?"

Such brains are fertile in expedients. If, without
extracting a confession from herself, he laid a watch,
discovered the object of her altered regard, and threat
ened to reveal the whole history to Sikes (of whom
she stood in no common fear) unless she entered into
his designs, could he not secure her compliance ?

"I can," said Fagiu, almost aloud. " She durst
not refuse me then. Not for her life, not for her life !
I have it all. The means are ready, and shall be set
to work. I shall have you yet ?"

He cast back a dark look, and a threatening mo
tion of the hand, toward the spot where he had left
the bolder villain ; and went on his way, busying
his bony hands in the folds of his tattered garment,
which he wrenched tightly in his grasp, as though
there were a hated enemy crushed with every mo
tion of his fingers.

BOLTER AGAIN IX EEQUEST.

143

CHAPTER XLV.

NOAH CLATPOLE 18 EMPLOYED BY FAGIN ON A SECRET
MISSION.

THE old man was up betimes next morning, and
waited impatiently for the appearance of his
new associate, who, after a delay that seemed inter
minable, at length presented himself, and commenced
a voracious assault on the breakfast.

" Bolter," said Fagin, drawing up a chair and seat
ing himself opposite Morris Bolter.

"Well, here I am," returned Noah. "What's the
matter ? Don't yer ask me to do any thing till I
have done eating. That's a great fault in this place.
Yer never get time enough over yer meals."

" You can talk as you eat, can't you ?" said Fagin,
cursing his dear young friend's greediness from the
very bottom of his heart.

" Oh yes, I can talk. I get on better when I
talk," said Noah, cutting a monstrous slice of bread.
"Where's Charlotte?"

" Out," said Fagin. " I sent her out this morning
with the other young woman, because I wanted us
to be alone."

" Oh !" said Noah. " I wish yer'd ordered her to
make some buttered toast first. W T ell, talk away.
Yer won't interrupt me."

There seemed, indeed, no great fear of any thing
interrupting him, as he had evidently sat down with
a determination to do a great deal of business.

" You did well yesterday, my dear," said Fagin.
" Beautiful ! Six shillings and ninepence half-pen
ny on the very first day ! The kinchin lay will be
a fortune to you."

" Don't you forget to add three pint-pots and a
milk-can," said Mr. Bolter.

" No, no, my dear. The pint-pots were great
strokes of genius ; but the milk-can was a perfect
masterpiece."

" Pretty well, I think, for a beginner," remarked
Mr. Bolter, complacently. " The pots I took off airy
railings, and the milk-can was standing by itself
outside a public-house. I thought it might get
rusty with the rain, or catch cold, yer know eh ?
Ha! ha! ha!"

Fagin affected to laugh very heartily ; and Mr.
Bolter having had his laugh out, took a series of
large bites, which finished his first hunk of bread-
and-butter, and assisted Mmself to a second.

" I want you, Bolter," said Fagin, leaning over
the table, " to do a piece of work for me, my dear,
that needs great care and caution."

" I say," rejoined Bolter, " don't yer go shoving
me into danger, or sending me to any more o' yer
police-offices. That don't suit me, that don't ; and
so I tell yer."

" There's not the smallest danger in it not the
very smallest," said the Jew ; " it's only to dodge a
woman."

"An old woman ?" demanded Mr. Bolter.

" A young one," replied Fagiu.

" I can do that pretty well, I know," said Bolter.
" I was a regular cunning sneak when I was at
school. What am I to dodge her for ? Not to "

" Not to do any thing, but to tell me where she
goes, who she sees, and, if possible, what she says ;

to remember the street, if it is a street, or the house,
if it is a house ; and to bring me back all the in
formation you can."

" What'U yer give me ?" asked Noah, setting down
his cup and looking his employer eagerly in the face.

"If you do it well, a pound, my dear. One
pound," said Fagin, wishing to interest him in the
scent as much as possible. "And that's what I nev
er gave yet for any job of work where there wasn't
valuable consideration to be gained."

" Who is she ?" inquired Noah.

" One of us."

" Oh Lor !" cried Noah, curling up his nose. " Yer
doubtful of her, are yer ?"

" She has found out some new friends, my dear,
and I must know who they are," replied Fagin.

" I see," said Noah, " Just to have the pleasure
of knowing them, if they're respectable people eh ?
Ha ! ha ! ha ! I'm your man."

" I knew you would be," cried Fagin, elated by
the success of his proposal.

" Of course, of course," replied Noah. " Where is
she? Where am I to wait for her? WTiere am I to go ?"

"All that, my dear, you shall hear from me. I'll
point her out at the proper time," said Fagiu. " You
keep ready, and leave the rest to me."

That night, and the next, and the next sgain, the
spy sat booted and equipped in his carter's dress,
ready to turn out at a word from Fagin. Six nights
passed six long weary nights and on each Fagin
came home with a disappointed face, and briefly in
timated that it was not yet time. On the seventh
he returned earlier, and with an exultation he could
not conceal. It was Sunday.

" She goes abroad to-night," said Fagin, " and on
the right errand, I'm sure ; for she has been alone all
day, and the man she is afraid of will not be back
much before day -break. Come with me. Quick !"

Noah started up without saying a word ; for the
Jew was in a state of such intense excitement that
it infected him. They left the house stealthily, and,
hurrying through a labyrinth of streets, arrived at
length before a public-house, which Noah recognized
as the same in which he had slept on the night of
his arrival in London.

It was past eleven o'clock, and the door was closed.
It opened softly on its hinges as Fagin gave a low
whistle. They entered without noise, and the door
was closed behind them.

Scarcely venturing to whisper, but substituting
dumb show for words, Fagin and the young Jew who
had admitted them pointed out the pane of glass to
Noah, and signed to him to climb up and observe the
person in the adjoining room.

" Is that the woman ?" he asked, scarcely above his
breath.

Fagin nodded yes.

" I can't see her face well," whispered Noah. " She
is looking down, and the candle is behind her."

" Stay there," whispered Fagin. He signed to Bar
ney, who withdrew. In an instant the lad entered
the room adjoining, and, under pretense of snuffing
the candle, moved it in the required position, and,
speaking to the girl, caused her to raise her face.

" I see her now," cried the spy.

"Plainly?"

144

OLIVER TWIST,

" I should know her among a thousand."
He hastily descended as the room-door opened, and
the girl came out. Fagin drew him behind a small
partition which was curtained off, and they held their
breaths as she passed within a few feet of their place
of concealment and emerged by the door at which
they had entered.

" Hist !" cried the lad who held the door. " Dow !"
Noah exchanged a look with Fagin, and darted out.
"To the left," whispered the lad: "take the left
had, and keep od the other side."

He did so ; and, by the light of the lamps, saw the
girl's retreating figure, already at some distance be
fore him. He advanced as near as he considered pru
dent, and kept on the opposite side of the street, the

was that of a woman, who looked eagerly about her
as though in quest of some expected object ; the other
figure was that of a man, who slunk along in the
deepest shadow he could find, and, at some distance,
accommodated his pace to hers stopping when she
stopped, and, as she moved again, creeping stealthily
on, but never allowing himself, in the ardor of his
pursuit, to gain upon her footsteps. Thus they cross
ed the bridge, from the Middlesex to the Surrey shore,
when the woman, apparently disappointed in her
anxious scrutiny of the foot-passengers, turned back.
The movement was sudden; but he who watched
her was not thrown off his guard by it ; for, shrink
ing into one of the recesses which surmount the piers
of the bridge, and leaning over the parapet, the bet-

" WHEN SHE WAS ABOUT THE SAME DISTANCE IN ADVANCE AS SHE HAD BEEN BEFOEE, HE SLIPPED QUIETLY DOWN, AND FOLLOWED

HER AGAIN."

better to observe her motions. She looked nervous
ly round twice or thrice, and once stopped to let two
men who were following close behind her pass on.
She seemed to gather courage as she advanced, and
to walk with a steadier and firmer step. The spy
preserved the same relative distance between them,
and followed, with his eye upon her.

CHAPTEE XL VI.

THE APPOINTMENT KEPT.

rMHE church clocks chimed three quarters past elev-
_L en, as two figures emerged on London Bridge.
One, which advanced with a swift and rapid step,

ter to conceal his figure, he suffered her to pass on
the opposite pavement. When she was about the
same distance in advance as she had been before, he
slipped quietly down, and followed her again. At
nearly the centre of the bridge she stopped. The
man stopped too.

It was a very dark night. The day had been un
favorable, and at that hour and place there were few
people stirring. Such as there were hurried quickly
past, very possibly without seeing, but certainly with
out noticing, either the woman or the man who kept
her in view. Their appearance was not calculated
to attract the importunate regards of such of Lon
don's destitute population as chanced to take their
way over the bridge that night in search of some
cold arch or doorless hovel wherein to lay their

THE SPY UNDER THE WALL.

145

heads ; they stood there iu silence, neither speaking
nor spoken to by any one who passed.

A mist hung over the river, deepening the red glare
of the tires that burned upon the small craft moored
oft' the different wharves, and rendering darker and
more indistinct the inurky buildings on the banks.
The old smoke-stained store-houses on either side rose
heavy and dull from the dense mass of roofs and ga
bles, and frowned sternly upon water too black to
reflect even their lumbering shapes. The tower of
old Saint Saviour's Church, and the spire of Saint
Magnus, so long the giant-warders of the ancient
bridge, were visible in the gloom; but the forest
of shipping below bridge, and the thickly scattered
spires of churches above, were nearly all hidden
from the sight.

The girl had taken a few restless turns to and fro,
closely watched meanwhile by her hidden observer,
when the heavy bell of St. Paul's tolled for the death
of another day. Midnight had come upon the crowd
ed city. The palace, the night-cellar, the jail, the
mad-house ; the chambers of birth and death, of health
and sickness, the rigid face of the corpse and the calm
sleep of the child midnight was upon them all.

The hour had not struck two minutes, when a
young lady, accompanied by a gray-haired gentle
man, alighted from a hackney-carriage within a short
distance of the bridge, and, having dismissed the ve
hicle, walked straight toward it. They had scarcely
set foot upon its pavement, when the girl started,
and immediately made toward them.

They walked onward, looking about them with the
air of persons who entertained some very slight ex
pectation which had little chance of being realized,
when they were suddenly joined by this new associ
ate. They halted with an exclamation of surprise,
but suppressed it immediately; for a man in the
garments of a countryman came close up brushed
against them, indeed at that precise moment.

" Not here," said Nancy, hurriedly, " I am afraid to
speak to you here. Come away out of the public
road down the steps yonder !"

As she uttered these words, and indicated with
her hand the direction in which she wished them to
proceed, the countryman looked round, and roughly
asking what they took up the whole pavement for,
passed on.

The steps to which the girl had pointed were those
which, on the Surrey bank, and on the same side of
the bridge as Saint Saviour's Church, form a landing-
stairs from the river. To this spot the man bearing
the appearance of a countryman hastened unobserved,
and after a moment's survey of the place, he began
to descend.

These stairs are a part of the bridge ; they consist
of three flights. Just below the end of the second,
going down, the stone wall on the left terminates in
an ornamental pilaster facing toward the Thames.
At this point the lower steps widen, so that a person
turning that angle of the wall is necessarily unseen
by any others on the stairs who chance to be above
him, if only a step. The countryman looked hasti
ly round when he reached this point ; and as there
seemed no better place of concealment, and, the tide
l>eing out, there was plenty of room, he slipped aside,
with his back to the pilaster, and there waited, pret-
K

ty certain that they would come no lower, and that
even if he could not hear what was said, he could
follow them again with safety.

So tardily stole the time in this lonely place, and
so eager was the spy to penetrate the motives of an
interview so different from what he had been led to
expect, that he more than once gave the matter up
for lost, and persuaded himself either that they had
stopped far above, or had resorted to some entirely
different spot to hold their mysterious conversation.
He was on the point of emerging from his hiding-
place and regaining the road above, when he heard
the sound of footsteps, and directly afterward of
voices almost close at his ear.

He drew himself straight upright against the wall,
and, scarcely breathing, listened attentively.

" This is far enough," said a voice, which was evi
dently that of the gentleman. " I will not suffer the
young lady to go any farther. Many people would
have distrusted you too much to have come even so
far, but you see I am willing to humor you."

" To humor me !" cried the voice of the girl whom
he had followed. " You're considerate, indeed, sir.
To humor me ! Well, well, it's no matter."

" Why, for what," said the gentleman, in a kinder
tone, " for what purpose can you have brought us to
this strange place ? Why not have let me speak to
you above there, where it is light, and there is some
thing stirring, instead of bringing us to this dark
and dismal hole ?"

" I told you before," replied Nancy, " that I was
afraid to speak to you there. I don't know why it
is," said the girl, shuddering, " but I have such a
fear and dread upon me to-night that I can hardly
stand."

"A fear of what ?" asked the gentleman, who seem
ed to pity her.

" I scarcely know of what," replied the girl. " I
wish I did. Horrible thoughts of death, and shrouds
with blood upon them, and a fear that has made me
burn as if I was on tire, have been upon me all day.
I was reading a book to-night, to while the time
away, and the same things came into the print."

" Imagination," said the gentleman, soothing her.

"No imagination," replied the girl, in a hoarse
voice. "I'll swear I saw ' coffin ' written in every
page of the book in large black letters ay, and they
carried one close to me in the streets to-night."

" There is nothing unusual in that," said the gen
tleman. " They have passed me often."

" Real ones," rejoined the girl. " This was not."

There was something so uncommon iu her manner.
that the flesh of the concealed listener crept as IK
heard the girl utter these words, and the blood chill
ed within him. He had never experienced a greater
relief than in hearing the sweet voice of the young
lady as she begged her to be calm, and not allow her
self to become the prey of such fearful fancies.

" Speak to her kindly," said the young lady to her
companion. " Poor creature ! She seems to need it.''

"Your haughty religious people would have held
their heads up to see me as I am to-night, and
preached, of flames and vengeance," cried the girl.
" Oh, dear lady, why ar'n't those who claim to be
God's own folks as gentle and as kind to us poor
wretches as you, who, having youth, and beauty, and

146

OLIVER TWIST.

all that they have lost, might be a little proud, in
stead of so much humbler ?"

"Ah!" said the gentleman. "A Turk turns his
face, after washing it well, to the East, when he says
his prayers; these good people, after giving their
tact's such a rub against the World as to take the
smiles off, turn with no less regularity to the darkest
side of Heaven. Between the Mussulman and the
Pharisee, commend me to the first !"

These words appeared to be addressed to the young
lady, and were perhaps uttered with the view of af
fording Nancy time to recover herself. The gentle
man shortly afterward addressed himself to her.

" You were not here last Sunday night," he said.

" I couldn't come," replied Nancy ; " I was kept by
force."

" By whom ?"

" Him that I told the young lady of before."

" You were not suspected of holding any commu
nication with any body on the subject which has
brought us here to-night, I hope ?" asked the old
gentleman.

"No," replied the girl, shaking her head. "It's
not very easy for me to leave him unless he knows
why ; I couldn't have seen the lady when I did, but
that I gave him a drink of laudanum before I came
away."

" Did he awake before you returned ?" inquired the
gentleman.

" No ; and neither he nor any of them suspect me."

" Good," said the gentleman. " Now listen to me."

" I am ready," replied the girl, as he paused for a
moment.

" This young lady," the gentleman began, " has
communicated to me, and to some other friends who
can be safely trusted, what you told her nearly a
fortnight since. I confess to you that I had doubts
at first whether you were to be implicitly relied
upon, but now I firmly believe you are."

" I am," said the girl, earnestly.

"I repeat that I firmly believe it. To prove ro
you that I am disposed to trust you, I tell you, with
out reserve, that we propose to extort the secret,
whatever it may be, from the fears of this man
Monks. But if if " said the gentleman, " he can
not be secured, 'or, if secured, can not be acted upon
as we wish, yoii must deliver up the Jew."

" Fagin !" cried the girl, recoiling.

" That man must be delivered up by you," said the
gentleman.

" I will not do it ! I will never do it !" replied the
girl. " Devil that he is, and worse than devil as he
has been to me, I will never do that."

" Yon will not ?" said the gentleman, who seemed
fully prepared for this answer.

" Never !" returned the girl.

" Tell me why ?"

" For one reason," rejoined the girl, firmly, " for one
reason, that the lady knows and will stand by me in
I know she will, for I have her promise ; and for this
other reason besides, that, bad life as he has led, I
have led a bad life too : there are many of us who
have kept the same courses together, and I'll not
turn upon them, who might any of them have
turned upon me, but didn't, bad as they are."

" Then," said the gentleman, quickly, as if this had

been the point he had been aiming to attain, "put
Monks into my hands, and leave him to me to deal
with."

" What if he turns against the others ?"

" I promise you that in that case, if the truth is
forced from him, there the matter will rest ; there
must be circumstances in Oliver's little history
which it would be painful to drag before the public-
eye, and, if the truth is once elicited, they shall go
scot free."

"And if it is not ?" suggested the girl.

"Then, "pursued the gentleman, " this Fagin shall
not be brought to justice without your consent. In
such a case I could show you reasons, I think, which
would induce you to yield it."

" Have I the lady's promise for that ?" asked the
girl.

" You have," replied Rose. " My true and faithful
pledge."

" Monks would never learn how you knew what
you do ?" said the girl, after a short pause.

" Never," replied the gentleman. " The intelli
gence should be so brought to bear upon him that
he could never even guess."

" I have been a liar, and among liars from a little
child," said the girl, after another interval of silence,
" but I will take your words."

After receiving an assurance from both that she
might safely do so, she proceeded, in a voice so low
that it was often difficult for the listener to discover
even the purport of what she said, to describe, by
name and situation, the public -house whence she
had been followed that night. From the manner in
which she occasionally paused, it appeared as if the
gentleman were making some hasty notes of the in
formation she communicated. When she had thor
oughly explained the localities of the place, the best
position from which to watch it without exciting ob
servation, and the night and hour on which Monks
was most in the habit of frequenting it, she seemed
to consider for a few moments, for the purpose of re
calling his features and appearance more forcibly t<>
her recollection.

" He is tall," said the girl, " and a strongly made
man, but not stout ; he has a lurking \valk ; and. as
he walks, constantly looks over his shoulder, first on
one side, and then on the other. Don't forget that,
for his eyes are sunk in his head so much deeper
than any other man's that you might almost tell
him by that alone. His face is dark, like his hair
and eyes; and, although he can't be more than six
or eight and twenty, withered and haggard. His
lips are often discolored and disfigured with the
marks of teeth ; for lie has desperate fits, and some
times even bites his hands and covers them with
wounds why did you start?" said the girl, stopping
suddenly.

The gentleman replied, in a hurried manner, that
he was not conscious of having done so, and begged
her to proceed.

" Part of this," said the girl, " I've drawn out from
other people at the house I tell you of, for I have only
seen him twice, and both times he was covered up in
a large cloak. I think that's all I can give you to
know him by. Stay, though." she added. " Upon
his throat, so high that you can see a part of it be-

THE SPY MAKES OFF WITH NEJTS.

147

low his neckerchief when he turns his face, there
is"

"A broad red mark, like a burn or scald," cried the
gentleman.

" How's this ?" said the girl. " Yon know him !"

The young lady uttered a cry of surprise, and for a
few moments they were so still that the listener could
distinctly hear them breathe.

" I think I do," said the gentleman, breaking si
lence. " I should by your description. We shall
see. Many people are singularly like each other.
It may not be the same."

As he expressed himself to this effect with assumed
carelessness, he took a step or two nearer the con
cealed spy, as the latter could tell from the distinct
ness with which he heard him mutter, " It must be
he!"

" Now," he said, returning, so it seemed by the
sound, to the spot where he had stood before, " you
have given us most valuable assistance, young wom
an, and I wish you to be the better for it. What
can I do to serve you ?"

" Nothing," replied Nancy.

" You will not persist in saying that," rejoined the
gentleman, with a voice and emphasis of kindness
that might have touched a much harder and more
obdurate heart. " Think now. Tell me."

" Nothing, sir," rejoined the girl, weeping. " You
can do nothing to help me. I am past all hope, in
deed."

" You put yourself beyond its pale," said the gen
tleman. "The past has been a dreary waste with
you, of youthful energies misspent, and such price
less treasures lavished, as the Creator bestows but
once and never grants again, but, for the future, you
may hope. I do not say that it is in our power to
otter you peace of heart and mind, for that must
come as you seek it ; but a quiet asylum, either in
England, or, if you fear to remain here, in some for
eign country, it is not only within the compass of
our ability but our most anxious wish to secure you.
Before the dawn of morning, before this river wakes
to the first glimpse of daylight, you shall be placed
as entirely beyond the reach of your former asso
ciates, and leave as utter an absence of all trace be
hind you, as if you were to disappear from the earth
this moment. Come ! I would not have you go back
to exchange one word with any old companion, or
take one look at any old haunt, or breathe the very
air which is pestilence and death to you. Quit them
all, while there is time and opportunity !"

" She will be persuaded now," cried the young lady.
" She hesitates, I am sure."

" I fear not, my dear," said the gentleman.

" No, sir, I do not," replied the girl, after a short
struggle. " I am chained to my old life. I loathe
and hate it now, but I can not leave it. I must
have gone too far to turn back and yet I don't
know ; for if you had spoken to me so some time
ago, I should have laughed it off. But," she said,
looking hastily round, "this fear comes over me
again. I must go home."

"Home!" repeated the young lady, with great
stress upon the word.

" Home, lady," rejoined the girl. " To such a
home as I have raised for mvself with the work of

my whole life. Let us part. I shall be watched or
seen. Go ! Go ! If I have done you any service, all
I ask is, that you leave me, and let me go my way
alone."

" It is useless," said the gentleman, with a sigh.
" We compromise her safety, perhaps, by staving
here. We may have detained her longer than she
expected already."

" Yes, yes," urged the girl. " You have."

" What," cried the young lady, " can be the end
of this poor creature's life !"

"What!" repeated the girl. "Look before you,
lady. Look at that dark water. How many times
do you read of such as I who spring into the tide,
and leave no living thing to care for or bewail them.
It may be years hence, or it may be only months, but
I shall come to that at last."

"Do not speak thus, pray," returned the young
lady, sobbing.

" It will never reach your ears, dear lady, and
God forbid such horrors should!" replied the girl.
" Good-night, good-night !"

The gentleman turned away.

"This purse," cried the young lady. "Take it
for my sake, that you may have some resource in an
hour of need and trouble !"

" No !" replied the girl. " I have not done this for
money. Let me have that to think of. And yet
give me something that you have worn: I should
like to have soniethiug no, no, not a ring your
gloves or handkerchief any thing that I can keep,
as having belonged to you, sweet lady. There.
Bless you! God bless you! Good -night, good
night !"

The violent agitation of the girl, and the appre
hension of some discovery which would subject her
to ill-usage and violence, seemed to determine the
gentleman to leave her as she requested. The
sounds of retreating footsteps were audible, and the
voices ceased.

The two figures of the young lady and her com
panion soon afterward appeared upon the bridge.
They stopped at the summit of the stairs.

"Hark!" cried the young lady, listeuing. "Did
she call ? I thought I heard her voice."

"No, my love," replied Mr. Brownlow, looking sad
ly back. " She has not moved, and will not till we
are gone."

Rose Maylie lingered, but the old gentleman drew
her arm through his, and led her, with gentle force,
away. As they disappeared, the girl sunk down
nearly at her full length upon one of the stone
stairs, and vented the anguish of her heart in bitter
tears.

After a time she arose, and with feeble and totter
ing steps ascended to the street. The astonished
listener remained motionless on his post for some
minutes afterward, and having ascertained, with
many cautions glances round him, that he was again
alone, crept slowly from his hiding-place, and return
ed stealthily and in the shade of the wall, in the
same manner as he had descended.

Peeping out more than once, when he reached the
top, to make sure that he was unobserved, Noah Clay-
pole darted away at his utmost speed, and made for
the Jew's house as fast as his legs would carry him.

148

OLIVER TWIST.

CHAPTER XLVII.

.FATAL CONSEQUENCES.

IT was nearly two hours before day-break that
time which in the autumn of the year may be
truly called the dead of night, when the streets are
silent and deserted, when even sounds appear to
slumber, and profligacy and riot have staggered
home to dream ; it was at this still and silent hour
that Fagin sat watching in his old lair, with face so
distorted and pale, and eyes so red and bloodshot,
that he looked leas like a man than like some hid
eous phantom moist from the grave, and worried by
an evil spirit.

He sat crouching over a cold hearth, wrapped in
an old torn coverlet, with his face turned toward a
wasting candle that stood upon a table by his side.
His right hand was raised to his lips, and as, absorb
ed in thought, he bit his long black nails, he dis
closed among his toothless gums a few such fangs as
should have been a dog's or rat's.

Stretched upon a mattress on the floor lay Noah
Claypole, fast asleep. Toward him the old man
sometimes directed his eyes for an instant, and then
brought them back again to the candle, which with
a long-burnt wick drooping almost double, and hot
grease falling down in clots upon the table, plainly
showed that his thoughts were busy elsewhere.

Indeed they were. Mortification at the overthrow
of his notable scheme ; hatred of the girl who had
dared to palter with strangers ; an utter distrust of
the sincerity of her refusal to yield him up ; bitter
disappointment at the loss of his revenge on Sikes ;
the fear of detection, and ruin, and death; and a
fierce and deadly rage kindled by all ; these were
the passionate considerations which, following close
upon each other with rapid and ceaseless whirl, shot
through the brain of Fagiu, as every evil thought
and blackest purpose lay working at his heart.

He sat without changing his attitude in the least,
or appearing to take the smallest heed of time, until
his quick ear seemed to be attracted by a footstep in
the street.

"At last," he muttered, wiping his dry and fever
ed mouth. "At last!"

The bell rang gently as he spoke. He crept up
stairs to the door, and presently returned accompa
nied by a man muffled to the chin, who carried a
bundle under one arm. Sitting down and throwing
back his outer coat, the man displayed the burly
frame of Sikes.

" There !" he said, laying the bundle on the table.
" Take care of that, and do the most you can with it.
It's been trouble enough to get ; I thought I should
have been here three hours ago."

Fagin laid his hand upon the bundle, and locking
it in the cupboard, sat down again without speaking.
But he did not take his eyes off the robber for an in-
stnnt during this action ; and now that they sat over
against each other, fact- to face, he looked fixedly at
him, with his lips quivering so violently, and his face
so altered by the emotions which had mastered him,
that the house-breaker involuntarily drew back his
chair, and surveyed him with a look of real affright.

" Wot now ?" cried Sikes. " Wot do you look at
a man so for?"

Fagin raised his right hand and shook his trem
bling forefinger in the air ; but his passion was so
great that the power of speech was for the moment
gone.

" Damme !" said Sikes, feeling in his breast with a
look of alarm. " He's gone mad. I must look to
myself here."

" No, no," rejoined Fagin, finding his voice. " It's
not you're not the person, Bill. I've no no fault
to find with you."

" Oh, you haven't, haven't you ?" said Sikes, look
ing sternly at him, and ostentatiously passing a pis
tol into a more convenient pocket. " That's lucky
for one of us. Which one that is, don't matter."

" I've got that to tell you, Bill," said Fagiu, draw
ing his chair nearer, "will make you worse than me."

"Ay?" returned the robber, with an incredulous
air. " Tell away ! Look sharp, or Nance will think
I'm lost,"

" Lost !" cried Fagin. " She has pretty well set
tled that in her own mind already."

Sikes looked with an aspect of great perplexity
into the Jew's face, and reading no satisfactory ex
planation of the riddle there, clenched his coat-col
lar in his huge hand and shook him soundly.

" Speak, will you !" he said ; " or, if you don't, it
shall be for want of breath. Open your mouth and
say wot you've got to say in plain words. Out with
it, you thundering old cur out with it !"

" Suppose that lad that's lying there " Fagiu be
gan.

Sikes turned round to where Noah was sleeping,
as if he had not previously observed him. " Well !"
he said, resuming his former position.

" Suppose that lad," pursued Fagin, " was to peach
to blow upon us all first seeking out the right
folks for the purpose, and then having a meeting
with 'em in the street to paint our likenesses, de
scribe every mark that they might know us by, and
the crib where we might be most easily taken. Sup
pose he was to do all this, and besides, to blow upon
a plant we've all been in more or less of his own
fancy; not grabbed, trapped, tried, ear wished by
the parson and brought to it on bread-and-water
but of his own fancy ; to please his own taste ; steal
ing out at nights to find those most interested against
us, and peaching to them. Do you hear me ?" cried
the Jew, his eyes flashing with rage. " Suppose he-
did all this, what then?"

" What then !" replied Sikes, with a tremendous
oath. " If he was left alive till I came, I'd grind his
skull under the iron heel of my boot into as many
grains as there are hairs upon his head."

" What if I did it !" cried Fagiu, almost in a yell.
"7, that know so much, and could hang so many be
sides myself!"

" I don't know," replied Sikes, clenching his teeth
and turning white at the mere suggestion. " I'd do
something in the jail that 'ml get me put in irons ;
and if I was tried along with you, I'd fall upon you
with them in the open court, and beat your brains
out afore the people. I should have such strength,"
muttered the robber, poising his brawny arm, " that
I could smash your head as if a loaded wagon had
gone over it."

" You would ?"

GOADING THE WILD BEAST.

149

" Would I !" said the house-breaker. " Try me."

" If it was Charley, or the Dodger, or Bet, or :

" I don't care who," replied Sikes, impatiently.
" Whoever it was, I'd serve them the same."

Fagin looked hard at the robber ; and, motioning
him to be silent, stooped over the bed upon the floor
and shook the sleeper to rouse him. Sikes leaned
forward in his chair, looking on with his hands upon
his knees, as if wondering much what all this ques
tioning and preparation was to end in.

" Bolter, Bolter ! Poor lad !" said Fagin, looking
up with an expression of devilish anticipation, and
speaking slowly and with marked emphasis. " He's
tired tired with watching for her so long watch
ing for her, Bill."

" Wot d'ye mean ?" asked Sikes, drawing back.

Fagin made no answer, but bending over the sleep
er again, hauled him into a sitting posture. When
his assumed name had been repeated several times,
Noah rubbed his eyes, and, giving a heavy yawn,
looked sleepily about him.

"Tell me that again once again, just for him to
hear," said the Jew, pointing to Sikes as he spoke.

" Tell yer what ?" asked the sleepy Noah, shaking
himself pettishly.

" That about NANCY," said Fagin, clutching Sikes
by the wrist, as if to prevent his leaving the house
before he had heard enough. " You followed her t"

" Yes."

" To London Bridge ?"

" Yes."

" Where she met two people ?"

" So she did."

"A gentleman and lady that she had gone to of
her own accord before, who asked her to give up all
her pals, and Monks first, which she did and to de
scribe him, which she did and to tell her what house
it was that we meet at, and go to, which she did
and where it could be best watched from, which she
did and what time the people went there, which she
did. She did all this. She told it all, every word,
without a threat, without a murmur she did did
she not ?" cried Fagin, half mad with fury.

"All right," replied Noah, scratching his head.
" That's just what it was !"

" What did they say about last Sunday ?"

" About last Sunday ?" replied Noah, considering.
" Why I told yer that before."

"Again. 'Tell it again!" cried Fagin, tightening
his grasp on Sikes, and brandishing his other hand
aloft, as the foam flew from his lips.

" They asked her," said Noah, who, as he grew
more wakeful, seemed to have a dawning perception
who Sikes was, " they asked her why she didn't come
last Sunday, as she promised. She said she couldn't."

" Why why ? Tell him that."

" Because she was forcibly kept at home by Bill,
the man she had told them of before," replied Noah.

" What more of him ?" cried Fagiu. " What more
of the man she had told them of before ? Tell him
that, tell him that."

" Why, that she couldn't very easily get out-of-
doors unless he knew where she was going to," said
Noah ; " and so the first time she went to see the lady,
she ha ! ha ! ha ! it made me laugh when she said
it, that it did she gave him a diluk of laudauum !"

" Hell's fire !" cried Sikes, breaking fiercely from
the Jew. " Let me go !"

Flinging the old man from him, he rushed from the
room, and darted, wildly and furiously, up the stairs.

" Bill, Bill !" cried Fagiu, following him hastily.
"A word. Only a word."

The word would not have been exchanged, but
that the house-breaker was unable to open the door,
on which he was expending fruitless oaths and vio
lence, when the Jew came panting up.

" Let me out !" said Sikes. " Don't speak to me ;
it's not safe. Let me out, I say !"

" Hear me speak a word," rejoined Fagin, laying
his hand upon the lock. " You won't be "

" Well," replied the other.

" You won't be too violent, Bill ?"

The day was breaking, and there was light enough
for the men to see each other's faces. They ex
changed one brief glance ; there was a fire in the eyes
of both which could not be mistaken.

" I mean," said Fagiu, showing that he felt all dis
guise was now useless, " not too violent for safety.
Be crafty, Bill, and not too bold."

Sikes made no reply ; but, pulling open the door
of which Fagin had turned the lock, dashed into the
silent streets.

Without one pause, or moment's consideration ;
without once turning his head to the right or left, or
raising his eyes to the sky, or lowering them to the
ground, but looking straight before him with savage
resolution, his teeth so tightly compressed that the
strained jaw seemed starting through his skin, the
robber held on his headlong course, nor muttered a
word, nor relaxed a muscle, until he reached his own
door. He opened it softly with a key, strode lightly
up the stairs, and, entering his own room, double-
locked the door, and lifting a heavy table against it,
drew back the curtain of the bed.

The girl was lying, half-dressed, upon it. He had
roused her from her sleep, for she raised herself with
a hurried and startled look.

" Get up !" said the man.

" It is you, Bill !" said the girl, with an expression
of pleasure at his return.

" It is," was the reply. " Get up !"

There was a candle burning, but the man hastily
drew it from the candlestick and hurled it under the
grate. Seeing the faint light of early day without,
the girl rose to undraw the curtain.

" Let it be," said Sikes, thrusting his hand before
her. " There's light enough for wot I've got to do."

" Bill," said the girl, in the low voice of alarm,
" why do you look like that at me ?"

The robber sat regarding her for a few seconds
with dilated nostrils and heaving breast; and then,
grasping her by the head and throat, dragged her
into the middle of the room, and looking once toward
the door, placed his heavy hand upon her mouth.

"Bill! Bill!" gasped the girl, wrestling with the
strength of mortal fear " I I won't scream or cry
not once hear me speak to me tell rue what I
have done."

" You know, you she-devil !" returned the robber,
suppressing his breath. "You were watched to
night ; every word you said was heard."

" Then spare my life for the love of Heaven, as I

150

OLIVER TWIST.

spared yours," rejoined the girl, clinging to him.
" Bill, dear Bill, you can not have the heart to kill
me ! Oh ! think of all I have given up, only this one
night, for you. You shall have time to think, and
save yourself this crime ; I will not loose my hold,
you can not throw me off. Bill, Bill, for dear God's
sake, for your own, for mine, stop before you spill my
blood ! I have been true to you, upon my guilty
soul I have !"

The man struggled violently to release his arms ;
but those of the girl were clasped round his, and, tear
her as lie would, he could not tear them away.

" Bill," cried the girl, striving to lay her head upon
his breast, " the gentleman and that dear lady told
me to-night of a home in some foreign country where
I could end my days in solitude and peace. Let me
see them again, and beg them on my knees to show
the same mercy and goodness to you ; and let us both
leave this dreadful place, and, far apart, lead better
lives, and forget how we have lived, except in prayers,
and never see each other more. It is never too late
to repent. They told me so I feel it now ; but we
must have time a little, little time !"

The house-breaker freed one arm, and grasped his
pistol. The certainty of immediate detection if he
tired, flashed across his mind even in the midst of
his fury, and he beat it twice, with all the force he
could summon, upon the upturned face that almost
touched his own.

She staggered and fell, nearly blinded with the
blood that rained down from a deep gash in her
forehead; but raising herself with difficulty on her
knees, drew from her bosom a white handkerchief
Rose Maylie's own and holding it up, in her folded
hands, as high toward heaven as her feeble strength
would allow, breathed one prayer for mercy to her
Maker.

It was a ghastly figure to look upon. The mur
derer staggering backward to the wall, and shutting
out the sight with his hand, seized a heavy club and
struck her down.

CHAPTER XL VIII.

THE FLIGHT OF SIKES.

OF all bad deed.s that, under cover of the dark
ness, had been committed within wide London's
bounds since night hung over it, that was the worst.
Of all the horrors that rose with an ill scent upon the
morning air, that was the foulest and most cruel.

The sun the bright sun, that brings back, not
light alone, but new life, and hope, and freshness to
man burst upon the crowded city in clear and ra
diant glory. Through costly-colored glass and pa
per - mended window, through cathedral dome and
rotten crevice, it shed its equal ray. It lighted up
the room where the murdered woman lay. It did.
He tried to shut it out, but it would stream in. If
the sight had been a ghastly one in the dull morn-
iiig, what was it now, in all that brilliant light !

He had not moved ; he had been afraid to stir.
There had been a moan and motion of the hand, and,
with terror added to rage, he had struck and struck
again. O:ice he threw a rug over it ; but it was
worse to fancy the eyes, and imagine them moving

towai'd him, than to see them glaring upward, as
if watching the reflection of the pool of gore that
quivered and danced in the sunlight on the ceiling.
He had plucked it off again. And there was the
body mere flesh and blood, no more but such
flesh, and so much blood !

He struck a light, kindled the fire, and thrust the
club into it. There was hair upon the end, which
blazed and shrunk into a light cinder, and, caught by
the air, whirled up the chimney. Even that fright
ened him, sturdy as he was ; but he held the weapon
till it broke, and then piled it on the coals to burn
away, and smoulder into ashes. He washed himself,
and rubbed his clothes; there were spots that would
not be removed, but he cut the pieces out, and burned
them. How those stains were dispersed about the
room ! The very feet of the dog were bloody.

All this time he had never once turned his back
upon the corpse ; no, not for a moment. Such prepa
rations completed, he moved backward toward the
door, dragging the dog with him, lest he should soil
his feet anew and carry out new evidences of the
crime into the streets. He shut the door softly,
locked it, took the key, and left the house.

He crossed over, and glanced up at the window,
to be sure that nothing was visible from the outside.
There was the curtain still drawn, which she would
have opened to admit the light she never saw again.
It lay nearly under there. He knew that. God. how
the sun poured down upon the very spot !

The glance was instantaneous. It was a relief to
have got free of the room. He whistled on the dog,
and walked rapidly away.

lie went through Islington ; strode up the hill at
Highgate on which stands the stone in honor of
Whittingtoii ; turned down to Highgate Hill, un
steady of purpose, .and uncertain where to go ; struck
off to the right again almost as soon as he began to
descend it ; and taking the foot-path across the fields,
skirted Caen Wood, and so came out on Hampstead
Heath. Traversing the hollow by the Vale of Health,
he mounted the opposite bank, and, crossing the road
which joins the villages of Hampstead and Highgate,
made along the remaining portion of the Heath to the
fields at North End, in one of which he laid himself
down under a hedge and slepr.

Soon he was up again and away not far into the
country, but back toward London by the high-road
then back again then over another part of the same
ground as he already traversed then wandering up
and down in fields, and lying on ditches' brinks to
rest, and starting up to make for some other spot and
do the same, and ramble on again.

Where could he go that was near and not too pub
lic, to get some meat and drink ? Hendon. That
was a good place, not far oft", and out of most peo
ple's way. Thither he directed his steps running
sometimes, and sometimes, with a strange perversi
ty, loitering at a snail's pace, or stopping altogether
and idly breaking the hedges with his stick. But
when he got there, all the people he met the very
children at the doors seemed to view him with sus
picion. Back he turned again, without the courage
to purchase bit or drop, though he had tasted no food
for many hours ; and once more he lingered on the
Heath, uncertain where to go.

THE PEDDLER OF ALL WARES.

151

He wandered over miles .and miles of ground, and
still came back to the old place. Morning and noon
had passed, and the day was on the wane, and still
he rambled to and fro, and up and down, and round
and round, and still lingered about the same spot.
At last he got away, and shaped his course for Hat-
tield.

It was nine o'clock at night, when the man, quite
tired out, and the dog, limping and lame from the
unaccustomed exercise, turned down the hill by the
church of the quiet village, and plodding along the
little street, crept into a small public-house, whose
scanty light had guided them to the spot. There
was a fire in the tap-room, and some country -labor-

There was nothing to attract attention or excite
alarm in this. The robber, after paying his reckon
ing, sat silent and unnoticed in his corner, and had
almost dropped asleep, when he was half wakened
by the noisy entrance of a new-comer.

This was an antic fellow, half peddler and half
mountebank, who traveled about the country on
foot to vend hones, strops, razors, wash-balls, har
ness-paste, medicine for dogs and horses, cheap per
fumery, cosmetics, and such -like wares, which he
carried in a case slung to his back. His entrance
was the signal for various homely jokes with the
countrymen, which slackened not until he had made
his supper, and opened his box of treasures, when lie

" HE MOVED UACKWAKI

ers were drinking before it. They made room for
the stranger, but he sat down in the farthest corner,
and ate and drank alone, or rather with his dog, to
whom he cast a morsel of food from time to time.

The conversation of the men assembled here turn
ed upon the neighboring laud and fanners ; and when
those topics were exhausted, upon the age of some
old man who had been buried on the previous Sun
day ; the young men present considering him very
old, and the old men present declaring him to have
been quite young not older, one white-haired grand
father said, than he was with ten or fifteen year of
life in him at least if he had taken care ; if he had
taken care.

WITH HIM.

ingeniously contrived to unite business with amuse
ment.

" And what be that stoof ? Good to eat, Harry ?"
asked a grinning countryman, pointing to some com
position-cakes in one corner.

" This," said the fellow, producing one, " this is the
infallible and invaluable composition for removing
all sorts of stain, rust, dirt, mildew, spick, speck, spot,
or spatter, from silk, satin, linen, cambric, cloth, crape,
stuff, carpet, merino, muslin, bombazine, or woolen
stuff. Wine-stains, fruit-stains, beer-stains, water-
stains, paint-stains, pitch-stains, any stains, all come
out at one rub with the infallible and invaluable
composition. If a lady stains her honor, she,has only

152

OLIVER TWIST.

need to swallow one cake, and she's cured at once
for it's poison. Jf a gentleman wants to prove this,
he has only need to bolt one little square, and he has
put ic beyond question for it's quite as satisfacto
ry as a pistol-bullet, and a great deal nastier in the
flavor, consequently the more credit in taking it.
One penny a square. With all these virtues, one
penny a square !"

There were two buyers directly, and more of the
listeners plainly hesitated. The vender observing
this, increased in loquacity.

"It's all bought up as fast as it can be made,"
said the fellow. " There are fourteen water-mills,
six steam-engines, and a galvanic battery, always
a-working upon it, and they can't make it fast enough,
though the men work so hard that they die off, and
the widows is pensioned directly, with twenty pound
a year for each of the children, and a premium of
fifty for twins. One penny a square! Two half
pence is all the same, and four farthings is received
with joy. One penny a square ! Wine-stains, fruit-
stains, beer-stains, water-stains, paint-stains, pitch-
stains, mud -stains, blood -stains! Here is a stain
upon the hat of a gentleman id company that I'll
take clean out before he can order me a pint of ale."

" Hah !" cried Sikes, starting up. " Give that
back !"

" I'll take it clean out, sir," replied the man, wink
ing to the company, " before you can come across
the room to get it. Gentlemen all, observe the dark
stain upon this gentleman's hat, no wider than a shil
ling, but thicker than a half-crown. Whether it is
a wine -stain, fruit -stain, beer -stain, water -stain,
paint-stain, pitch-stain, mud-stain, or blood-stain"

The man got no farther, for Sikes, with a hideous
imprecation, overthrew the table, and, tearing the hat
from him, burst out of the house.

With the same perversity of feeling and irresolu
tion that had fastened upon him, despite himself, all
day, the murderer, finding that he was not followed,
and that they most probably considered him some
drunken, sullen fellow, turned back up the town,
and getting out of the glare of the lamps of a stage
coach that was standing in the street, was walking
past, when he recognized the mail from London, and
saw that it was standing at the little post-office.
He almost knew what was to come ; but he crossed
over, and listened.

The guard was standing at the door, waiting for
the letter-bag. A man, dressed like a gamekeeper,
came up at the moment, and he handed him a basket
which lay ready on the pavement.

" That's for your people," said the guard. " Now,
look alive in there, will you ! D that 'ere bag, it
warn't ready night afore last ; this won't do, you
know!"

"Any thing new up in town, Ben ?" asked the
gamekeeper, drawing back to the window-shutters,
the better to admire the horses.

" No, nothing that I knows on," replied the man,
pulling on his gloves. " Corn's up a little. I heerd
talk of a murder, too, down Spitalfields way, but I
don't reckon much upon it."

" Oh, that's quite true," said a gentleman inside,
who was looking out of the window. "And a dread
ful murder it was."

"Was it, sir?" rejoined the guard, touching his
hat. " Man or woman, pray, sir ?"

"A woman," replied the gentleman. "It is sup
posed

" Now, Ben !" cried the coachman, impatiently.

" D that 'ere bag," said the guard ; " are you
gone to sleep in there ?"

" Coming !" cried the officer-keeper, running out.

" Coming !" growled the guard. "Ah, and so's the
young ooman of property that's going to take a fan
cy to me, but I don't know when. Here, give hold.
Allri ight!"

The horn sounded a few cheerful notes, and the
coach was gone.

Sikes remained standing in the street, apparently
unmoved by what he had just heard, and agitated
by no stronger feeling than a doubt where to go. At
length he went back again, and took the road which
leads from Hatfield to St. Albaus.

He went on doggedly ; but as he left the town be
hind him, and plunged into the solitude and dark
ness of the road, he felt a dread and awe creeping
upon hiifl which shook him to the core. Every ob
ject before him, substance or shadow, still or moving,
took the semblance of some fearful thing ; but these
fears were nothing compared to the sense that haunt
ed him of that morning's ghastly figure following at
his heels. He could trace its shadow in the gloom,
supply the smallest item of the outline, and note how
stiff and solemn it seemed to stalk alone. He could
hear its garments rustling in the leaves, and every
breath of wind came laden with that last low cry.
If he stopped, it did the same. If he ran, it followed
not running too ; that would have been a relief :
but like a corpse endowed with the mere machinery
of life, and borne on one slow, melancholy wind
that never rose or fell.

At times he turned, with desperate determination,
resolved to beat this phantom off, though it should
look him dead ; but the hair rose on his head, and
his blood stood still, for it had turned with him, and
was behind him then. He ha<l kept it before him
that morning, but it was behind now always. He
leaned his back against a bank, and felt that it stood
above him, visibly out against the cold night-sky.
He threw himself upon the road on his back upon
the road. At his head it stood, silent, erect, and still
a living grave-stone, with its epitaph in blood.

Let no man talk of murderers escaping justice, and
hint that Providence must sleep. There were twen
ty score of violent deaths in one long minute of that
agony of fear.

There was a shed in a field he passed that offered
shelter for the night. Before the door were three
tall poplar trees, which made it very dark within ;
and the wind moaned through them with a dismal
wail. He could not walk on till daylight came again :
and here he stretched himself close to the wall to
undergo new torture.

For now a vision came before him, as constant
and more terrible than that from which he had es
caped. Those widely-staring eyes, so lustreless and
so glassy, that he had better borne to see them than
think upon them, appeared in the midst of the dark
ness, bight in themselves, but giving light to nothing.
There were but two, but they were everywhere. If

THE CUESE OF CAIN.

he shut out the sight, there came the room with ev
ery well-known object some, indeed, that he Avould
have forgotten if lie had gone over its contents from
memory each in its accustomed place. The body
was in its place, and its eyes were as he saw them
when he stole away. He got up aud rushed into the
field without. The figure was behind him. He re-
entered the shed, aud shrunk down once more. The
eyes were there, before he had lain himself along.

And here he remained in such terror as none but
he can know, trembling in every limb, and the cold
sweat starting from every pore, when suddenly there
arose upon the night- wind the noise of distant shout
ing and the roar of voices mingled in alarm and won
der. Any sound of men in that lonely place, even
though it conveyed a real cause of alarm, was some
thing to him. He regained his strength and energy
at the prospect of personal danger ; and springing to
his feet, rushed into the open air.

The broad sky seemed on fire. Rising into the air
with showers of sparks, and rolling one above the
other, were sheets of flame, lighting the atmosphere
for miles round, and driving clouds of smoke in the
direction where he stood. The shouts grew louder
as new voices swelled the roar, and he could hear
the cry of fire, mingled with the ringing of an alarm-
bell, the fall of heavy bodies, and the crackling of
flames as they twined round some new obstacle, and
shot aloft as though refreshed by food. The noise
increased as he looked. There were people there
men and women light, bustle. It was like new
life to him. He darted onward straight, headlong
dashing through brier aud brake, and leaping gate
and fence as madly as his dog, who careered with
loud and sounding bark before him.

He came upon the spot. There were half-dressed
figures tearing to and fro, some endeavoring to drag
the frightened horses from the stables, others driv
ing the cattle from the yard and out-houses, and oth
ers coming laden from the burning pile, amidst a
shower of falling sparks and the tumbling down of
red-hot beams. The apertures, where doors and win
dows stood an hour ago, disclosed a mass of raging
fire ; walls rocked and crumbled into the burning
well ; the molten lead and iron poured down, white-
hot, upon the ground. Women and children shrieked,
and men encouraged each other with noisy shouts
and cheers. The clanking of the engine-pumps, and
the spirting and hissing of the water as it fell upon
the blazing wood, added to the tremendous roar.
He shouted, too, till he was hoarse ; and flying from
memory and himself, plunged into the thickest of
the throng.

Hither and thither he dived that night now
working at the pumps, and now hurrying through
the smoke and flame, but never ceasing to engage
himself wherever noise and men were thickest. Up
and down the ladders, upon the roofs of buildings,
over floors that quaked and trembled with his weight,
under the lee of falling bricks and stones, in every
part of that great fire, was he ; but he bore a charmed
life, and had neither scratch nor bruise, nor weari
ness nor thought, till morning dawned again, and
only smoke and blackened ruins remained.

This mad excitement over, there returned, with
tenfold force, the dreadful consciousness of his crime.
He looked suspiciously about him, for the men were
conversing in groups, and he feared to be the subject
of their talk. The dog obeyed the significant beck
of his finger, and they drew off, stealthily, together.
He passed near an engine where some men were
seated, and they called to him to share in their re
freshment. He took some bread and meat ; and, as
he drank a draught of beer, heard the firemen, who
were from London, talking about the murder. " He
has gone to Birmingham, they say," said one ; " but
they'll have him yet, for the scouts are out, and by
to-morrow night .there'll be a cry all through the
country."

He hurried off, and walked till he almost dropped
upon the ground ; then lay down in a lane, and had
a long, but broken and uneasy sleep. He wandered
on again, irresolute and undecided, and oppressed
with the fear of another solitary night.

Suddenly, he took the desperate resolution of go
ing back to London.

" There's somebody to speak to there, at all events,"
he thought. "A good hiding-place, too. They'll
never expect to nab me there, after this country
scent. Why can't I lie by for a week or so, and,
forcing blunt from Fagin, get abroad to France ?
Damme, I'll risk it."

He acted upon this impulse without delay, and
choosing the least frequented roads, began his jour
ney back, resolved to lie concealed within a short
distance of the metropolis, and, entering it at dusk
by a circuitous route, to proceed straight to that
part of it which he had fixed on for his destina
tion.

The dog, though. If any descriptions of him were
out, it would not be forgotten that the dog was miss
ing, and had probably gone with him. This might
lead to his apprehension as he passed along the
streets. He resolved to drown him, and walked on,
looking about for a pond, picking up a heavy stone
and tying it to his handkerchief as he went.

The animal looked up into his master's face while
these preparations were making: whether his in
stinct apprehended something of their purpose, or
the robber's sidelong look at him was sterner than
ordinary, he skulked a little farther in the rear than
usual, and cowered as he came more slowly along.
When his master halted at the brink of a pool, and
looked round to call him, he stopped outright.

" Do you hear me call ? Come here !" cried Sikes.

The animal came up from the very force of hab
it ; but as Sikes stooped to attach the handkerchief
to his throat, he uttered a low growl and started
back.

" Come back !" said the robber.

The dog wagged his tail, but moved not. Sikes
made a running noose and called him again.

The dog advanced, retreated, paused an instant,
turned, aud scoured away at his hardest speed.

The man whistled again and again, and sat down
and waited in the expectation that he would return.
But no dog appeared, and at length he resumed his
journey.

154

OLIVER TWIST.

CHAPTER XLIX.

MONKS AND MR. BROWNLOW AT LENGTH MEET. THEIR
CONVERSATION, AND THE INTELLIGENCE THAT INTER
RUPTS IT.

THE twilight was beginning to close in, when Mr.
Browulow alighted from a hackney-coach at his
own door, and knocked softly. The door being open
ed, a sturdy man got out of the coach and stationed
himself on one side of the steps, while another man,
who had been seated on the box, dismounted too,
and stood upon the other side. At a sign from Mr.
Brownlow they helped out a third man, and taking
him between them, hurried him into the house. This
man was Monks.

They walked in the same manner up the stairs,
without speaking; and Mr. Browulow, preceding
them, led the way into a back-room. At the door of
this apartment Monks, who had ascended w y ith ev
ident reluctance, stopped. The two men looked to
the old gentleman as if for instructions.

" He knows the alternative," said Mr. Brownlow.
" If he hesitates or moves a finger but as you bid
him, drag him into the street, call for the aid of the
police, and impeach him as a felon in my name."

" How dare you say this of me ?" asked Monks.

" How dare you urge me to it, young man ?" re
plied Mr. Brownlow, confronting him with a steady
look. "Are you mad enough to leave this house?
Unhand him. There, sir. You are free to go, and
we to follow. But I warn you, by all I hold most
solemn and most sacred, that the instant you set
foot in the street, that instant will I have you appre
hended on a charge of fraud and robbery. I am res
olute and immovable. If you are determined to be
the same, your blood be upon your own head !"

" By what authority am I kidnapped in the street,
and brought here by these dogs ?" asked Monks, look
ing from one to the other of the men who stood be
side him.

" By mine," replied Mr. Brownlow. " Those per
sons are indemnified by me. If you complain of be
ing deprived of your liberty you had power and
opportunity to retrieve it as you came along, but
you deemed it advisable to remain quiet I say
again, throw yourself for protection on the law. I
will appeal to the law too ; but when you have gone
too far to recede, do not sue to me for leniency, when
the power will have passed into other hands ; and do
not say I plunged you down the gulf into which you
rushed yourself."

Monks was plainly disconcerted, and alarmed be
sides. He hesitated.

" You Avill decide quickly," said Mr. Brownlow,
with perfect firmness and composure. " If you wish
me to prefer my charges publicly, and consign you
to a punishment the extent of which, although I can,
with a shudder, foresee, I can not control once more,
I say, you know the way. If not, and you appeal
to my forbearance and the mercy of those you have
deeply injured, seat yourself, without a word, in that
chair. It has waited for you two whole days."

Monks muttered some unintelligible words, but
wavered still.

"You will be prompt," said Mr. Brownlow. "A
word from me, and the alternative has gone forever."

(Still the man hesitated.

" I have not the inclination to parley," said Mr.
Brownlow, " and, as I advocate the dearest interests
of others, I have not the right."

"Is there " demanded Monks, with a faltering
tongue " is there no middle course?"

" None."

Monks looked at the old gentleman with an anx
ious eye ; but reading in his countenance nothing but
severity and determination, Avalked into the room,
and, shrugging his shoulders, sat down.

" Lock the door 011 the outside," said Mr. Brown-
low to the attendants, " and come when I ring."

The men obeyed, and the two were left alone to
gether.

" This is pretty treatment, sir," said Monks, throw
ing down his hat and cloak, " from my father's old
est friend."

"It is because I was your father's oldest friend,
young man," returned Mr. Browulow ; " it is because
the hopes aud wishes of young and happy years were
bound up with him and that fair creature of his
blood and kindred who rejoined her God in youth,
and left me here a solitary, lonely man ; it is because
he kuelt with me beside his only sister's death-bed
when he was yet a boy, on the morning that would
but Heaven willed otherwise have made her my
young wife ; it is because my seared heart clung to
him, from that time forth, through all his trials and
errors, till he died ; it is because old recollections
and associations filled my heart, and even the sight
of you brings with it old thoughts of him ; it is be
cause of all these things that I am moved to treat
you gently now yes, Edward Leeford, even now
and blush for your unworthiness who bear the
name."

" What has the name to do with it ?" asked the
other, after contemplating, half in silence, and half
in dogged wonder, the agitation of his companion.
" What is the name to me ?"

" Nothing," replied Mr. Brownlow ; " nothing to
you. But it was hers, and, even at this distance of
time, brings back to me, an old man, the glow and
thrill which I once felt, only to hear it repeated by
a stranger. I am very glad you have changed it
very very."

" This is all mighty fine," said Monks (to retain
his assumed designation), after a long silence, during
which he had jerked himself in sullen defiance to
and fro, and Mr. Brownlow had sat shading his face
with his hand. " But what do you want with me f

" You have a brother," said Mr. Brownlow, rousing
himself " a brother, the whisper of whose name in
your ear when I came behind you in the street was,
in itself, almost enough to make you accompany me
hither, in wonder and alarm."

" I have no brother," replied Monks. " You know
I was an only child. Why do you talk to me of
brothers ? You know that, as well as I."

"Attend to what I do know, and you may not,"
said Mr. Brownlow. I shall interest you by-and-by.
I know that of the wretched marriage into which
family pride, and the most sordid and narrowest of all
ambition, forced your unhappy father when a mere
boy, you were the sole and most unnatural issue."

" I don't care for hard names," interrupted Monks,

ME. BBOWNLOW TELLS A TALE.

155

with a jeering laugh. " You kuow the fact, and
that's enough for me."

"But I also kuow," pursued the old gentleman,
"the misery, the slow torture, the protracted an
guish, of that ill-assorted union. I kuow how list
lessly and wearily each of that wretched pair drag
ged on their heavy chain through a world that was
poisoned to them both. I know how cold formalities
were succeeded by open taunts; how indifference
gave place to dislike, dislike to hate, and hate to
loathing, until at last they wrenched the clanking
bond asunder, and retiring a wide space apart, car
ried each a galling fragment, of which nothing but
death could break the rivets, to hide it in new so
ciety beneath the gayest looks they could assume.
Your mother succeeded she forgot it soon. But it
rusted and cankered at your father's heart for years."
Well, they were separated," said Monks; "and
what of that?"

When they had been separated for some time,"
returned Mr. Browulow, " and your mother, wholly
given up to continental frivolities, had utterly for
gotten the young husband, ten good years her junior,
who, with prospects blighted, lingered on at home,
he fell among new friends. This circumstance, at
least, you know already."

" Not I," said Monks, turning away his eyes and
beating his foot upon the ground, as a man who is
determined to deny every thing. " Not I."

" Your manner, no less than your actions, assures
me that you have never forgotten it, or ceased to
think of it with bitterness," returned Mr. Brownlow.
" I speak of fifteen years ago, when you were not
more than eleven years old, and your father but one-
a nd-thirty for he was, I repeat, a boy when his fa
ther ordered him to marry. Must I go back to events
which cast a shade upon the memory of your parent,
or will you spare it, and disclose to me the truth ?"

" I have nothing to disclose," rejoined Monks.
" You must talk on if you will."

"These new friends, then," said Mr. Brownlow,
" were a naval officer, retired from active service,
whose wife had died some half a year before, and left
him with two children there had been more, but,
of all their family, happily but two survived. They
were both daughters; one a beautiful creature of
nineteen, and the other a mere child of two or three
years old."

" What's this to me ?" asked Monks.
" They resided," said Mr. Brownlow, without seem
ing to hear the interruption, " in a part of the coun
try to which your father in his wandering had re
paired, and where he had taken up his abode. Ac
quaintance, intimacy, friendship, fast followed on
each other. Your father was gifted as few men are.
He had his sister's soul and person. As the old offi
cer knew him more and more, he grew to love him.
I would that it had ended there. His daughter did
the same."

The old gentleman paused Mcnks was biting his
lips, with his eyes fixed upon the floor. Seeing this,
he immediately resumed :

" The end of a year found him contracted, sol
emnly contracted, to that daughter the object of
tin- first, true, ardent, only passion of a guileless
girl."

" Your tale is o*f the longest," observed Monks,
moving restlessly in his chair.

"It. is a true tale of grief and trial and sorrow,
young man," returned Mr. Browulow ; " and such
tales usually are : if it were one of unmixed joy and
happiness, it would be very brief. At length one of
those rich relations, to strengthen whose interest and
importance your father had been sacrificed, as others
are often it is no uncommon case died, and, to re
pair the misery he had been instrumental in occasion
ing, left him his panacea for all griefs Money. It
was necessary that he should immediately repair to
Rome, whither this man had sped for health, and
where he had died, leaving his affairs in great confu
sion. He went, was seized with mortal illness there ;
was followed the moment the intelligence reached
Paris by your mother, who carried you with her ; he
died the day after her arrival, leaving no will no
will so that the whole property fell to her and you."

At this part of the recital, Monks held his breath
and listened with a face of intense eagerness, though
his eyes were not directed toward the speaker. As
Mr. Brownlow paused, he changed his position with
the air of one who has experienced a sudden relief,
and wiped his hot face and hands.

" Before he went abroad, and as he passed through
London on his way," said Mr. Brownlow, slowly, and
fixing his eyes upon the other's face, " he came to
me."

" I never heard of that," interrupted Monks, in a
tone intended to appear incredulous, but savoring
more of disagreeable surprise.

" He came to me, and left with me, among some
other things, a picture a portrait painted by him
self a likeness of this poor girl which he did not
wish to leave behind, and could not carry forward on
his hasty journey. He was worn, by anxiety and re
morse, almost to a shadow ; talked in a wild, dis
tracted way of ruin and dishonor worked by himself;
confided to me his intention to convert his whole
property, at any loss, into money, and, having set
tled on his wife and you a portion of his recent ac
quisition, to fly the country I guessed too well he
would not fly alone and never see it more. Even
from me, his old and early friend, whose strong at
tachment had taken root in the earth that covered
one most dear to both even from me he withheld
any more particular confession, promising to write
and tell me all, and after that to see me once again
for the last time on earth. Alas ! That was the last
time. I had no letter, and I never saw him more.

" I went," said Mr. Browulow, after a short pause ;
" I went, when all was over, to the scene of his I
will vise the term the world would freely use, for
worldly harshness or favor are now alike to him of
his guilty love, resolved that if my fears were real
ized, that erring child should find one heart and
home to shelter and compassionate her. The family
had left that part a week before ; they had called in
such trifling debts as were outstanding, discharged
them, and left the place by night. Why, or whither,
none can tell."

Monks drew his breath yet more freely, and looked
round with a smile of triumph.

" When your brother," said Mr. Brownlow, draw
ing nearer to the other's chair " when your broth-

156

OLIVER TWIST.

er a feeble, ragged, neglected (fliild was cast in
my way by a stronger hand than chance, and res
cued by me from a life of vice and infamy

" What ?" cried Monks.

" By me," said Mr. Brownlow. " I told you I should
interest you before long. I say by me I see that your
cunning associate suppressed my name, although, for
aught he knew, it would be quite strange to your ears.
When he was rescued by me, then, and lay recover
ing from sickness in my house, his strong resemblance
to this picture I have spoken of struck me with as
tonishment. Even when I first saw him in all his
dirt and misery, there was a lingering expression in
his face that came upon me like a glimpse of some
old friend flashing on one in a vivid dream. I need
not tell you he was snared away before I knew his
history

" Why not ?" asked Monks, hastily.

" Because you know it well."
a j j

" Denial to me is vain," replied Mr. Brownlow.
" I shall show you that I know more than that."

" You you can't prove any thing against me,"
stammered Monks. " I defy you to do it !"

" We shall see," returned the old gentleman, with
a searching glance. " I lost the boy, and no efforts
of mine could recover him. Your mother being dead,
I knew that you alone could solve the mystery if
any body could; and as when I had last heard of
you you were on your own estate in the West Indies
whither, as you well know, you retired upon your
mother's death to escape the consequences of vicious
courses here I made the voyage. You had left it
months before, and were supposed to be in London ;
but no one could tell where. I returned. Your agents
had no clue to your residence. You came and went,
they said, as strangely as you had ever done some
times for days together and sometimes not for mouths
keeping, to all appearance, the same low haunts,
and mingling with the same infamous herd who
had been your associates when a fierce, ungovern
able boy. I wearied them with new applications. I
paced the streets by night and day, but, until two
hours ago, all my efforts were fruitless, and I never
saw you for an instant."

"And now you do see me," said Monks, rising bold
ly, " what then ? Fraud and robbery are high-sound-
iug words justified, you think, by a fancied resem
blance in some young imp to an idle daub of a dead
man's. Brother ! you don't even know that a child
was born of this maudlin pair ; you don't even know
that,"

" I did not," replied Mr. Brownlow, rising too ; " but
within the last fortnight I have learned it all. You
have a brother : you know it and him. There was a
will, which your mother destroyed, leaving the secret
and the gain to you at her own death. It contained
a reference to some child likely to be the result of
this sad connection, which child was born, and acci
dentally encountered by you, when your suspicions
were first awakened by his resemblance to his father.
You repaired to the place of his birth. There exist
ed proofs proofs long suppressed of his birth and
parentage. Those proofs were destroyed by you, and
now, in your own words to your accomplice the Jew,
l tlw only proofs of the boy's identity lie at the bottom of

the river, and the old hay that received them from tlic
mother is rotting in her coffin. 1 Unworthy son, coward,
liar you, who hold your councils with thieves and
murderers in dark rooms at night you, whose plots
and wiles have brought a violent death upon the
head of one worth millions such as you you, who
from your cradle were gall and bitterness to your own
father's heart, and in whom all evil passions, vice,
and profligacy festered, till they found a vent in a
hideous disease which has made your face an index
even to your mind you, Edward Leeford, do you
still brave me !"

"No, no, no!" returned the coward, overwhelmed
by these accumulated charges.

" Every word !" cried the old gentleman, " every
word that has passed between you and this detested
villain is known to me. Shadows on the wall have
caught your whispers, and brought them to my ear ;
the sight of the persecuted child has turned vice it
self, and given it the courage and almost the attri
butes of virtue. Murder has been done, to which
you were morally if not really a party."

" No, no," interposed Monks. " I I know noth
ing of that ; I was going to inquire the truth of the
story when you overtook me. I didn't know the
cause. I thought it was a common quarrel."

" It was the partial disclosure of your secrets," re
plied Mr. Bro willow. " Will you disclose the whole f '

"Yes, I will."

" Set your hand to a statement of truth and facts,
and repeat it before witnesses ?"

" That I promise too."

"Remain quietly here until such a document is
drawn up, and proceed with me to such a place as I
may deem most advisible, for the purpose of attest
ing it ?"

" If you insist upon that, I'll do that also," replied
Monks.

" You must do more than that," said Mr. Brown-
low. "Make restitution to an innocent and unof
fending child ; for such he is, although the offspring
of a guilty and most miserable love. You have not
forgotten the provisions of the will. Carry them
into execution so far as your brother is concerned,
and then go where you please. In this world you
need meet no more."

While Monks was pacing up and down, meditating
with dark and evil looks on this proposal and the
possibilities of evading it torn by his fears on the
one hand and his hatred on the other the door was
hurriedly unlocked, and a gentleman (Mr. Losberue)
entered the room in violent agitation.

" The man will be taken," he cried. " He will be
taken to-night."

" The murderer ?" asked Mr. Brownlow.

" Yes, yes," replied the other. " His dog has been
seen lurking about some old haunt, and there seems
little doubt that his master either is, or will be, there.
under cover of the darkness. Spies are hovering
about in every direction. I have spoken to the men
who are charged with his capture, and they tell me
he can not escape. A reward of a hundred pounds
is proclaimed by Government to-night."

" I will give fifty more," said Mr. Brownlow, " and
proclaim it with my own lips upon the spot, if I can
reach it. Where is Mr. May lie ?"

JACOB'S ISLAND FOLLY DITCH.

157

" Harry ? As soon as he had seen your friend here,
safe in a coach with you, he hnrried off to where he
heard this," replied the doctor, " and, mounting his
horse, sallied forth to join the first party at some
place in the outskirts agreed upon between them."

" Fagiu ?" said Mr. Brownlow ; " what of him ?"

" When I last heard, he had not been taken, but
he will be, or is, by this time. They're sure of him."

" Have you made up your mind?" asked Mr. Brown-
low, in a low voice, of Monks.

"Yes," he replied. "You you will be secret
with me ?"

" I will. Remain here till I return. It is your
only hope of safety."

They left the room, and the door was again locked.

" What have you done ?" asked the doctor, in a
whisper.

"All -that I could hope to do, and even more.
Coupling the poor girl's intelligence with my previ
ous knowledge, and the result of our good friend's
inquiries on the spot, I left him no loop-hole of es
cape, and laid bare the whole villainy which by
these lights became plain as day. Write and ap
point the evening after to-morrow, at seven, for the
meeting. We shall be down there a few hours be
fore, but shall require rest, especially the young lady,
who may have greater need of firmness than either
you or I can quite foresee just now. But my blood
boils to avenge this poor murdered creature. Which
way have they taken ?"

" Drive straight to the office and you will be in
time," replied Mr. Losberne. " I will remain here."

The two gentlemen hastily separated, each in a
fever of excitement wholly uncontrollable.

CHAPTER L.

THE PURSUIT AND ESCAPE.

"VTEAR to that part of the Thames on which the
J_ i church at Rotherhithe abuts, where the build
ings on the banks are dirtiest and the vessels on the
river blackest with the dust of colliers and the smoke
of close-built low-roofed houses, there exists the
filthiest, the strangest, the most extraordinary of the
many localities that are hidden in London, wholly
unknown, even by name, to the great mass of its in
habitants.

To reach this place the visitor has to penetrate
through a maze of close, narrow, and muddy streets,
thronged by the roughest and poorest of water-side
people, and devoted to the traffic they may be sup
posed to occasion. The cheapest and least delicate
provisions are heaped in the shops ; the coarsest and
commonest articles of wearing apparel dangle at the
salesman's door, and stream from the house parapet
and windows. Jostling with unemployed laborers
of the lowest class, ballast -heavers, coal-whippers,
brazen women, ragged children, and the raff and ref
use of the river, he makes his way with difficulty
along, assailed by offensive sights and smells from
the narrow alleys which branch off on the right and
left, and deafened by the clash of ponderous wagons
that bear great piles of merchant! ise from the stacks
of warehouses that rise from every corner. Arriv

ing, at length, in streets remoter and less frequented
than those through which he has passed, he walks
beneath tottering house-fronts projecting over the
pavement, dismantled walls that seem to totter as
he passes, chimneys half crushed, half hesitating to
fall, windows guarded by rusty iron bars that time
and dirt have almost eaten away, and every imagi
nable sign of desolation and neglect.

In such a neighborhood, beyond Dockhead, in the
borough of Southwark, stands Jacob's Island, sur
rounded by a muddy ditch, six or eight feet deep
and fifteen or twenty wide when the tide is in, once
called Mill Pond, but known in the days of this sto
ry as Folly Ditch. It is a creek or inlet from the
Thames, and can always be filled at high water by
opening the sluices at the Lead Mills, from which it
took its old name. At such times a stranger, look
ing from one of the wooden bridges thrown across it
at Mill Lane, will see the inhabitants of the houses
on either side lowering from their backdoors and
windows, buckets, pails, domestic utensils of all
kinds, in which to haul the water up ; and when his
eye is turned from these operations to the houses
themselves, his utmost astonishment will be excited
by the scene before him. Crazy wooden galleries
common to the backs of half a dozen houses, with
holes from which to look upon the slime beneath ;
windows, broken and patched, with poles thrust out,
on which to dry the linen that is never there ; rooms
so small, so filthy, so confined, that the air would
seem too tainted even for the dirt and squalor which
they shelter; wooden chambers thrusting themselves
out above the mud, and threatening to fall into it
as some have done ; dirt-besmeared walls and decay
ing foundations ; every repulsive lineament of pov
erty, every loathsome indication of filth, rot, and gar
bage ; all these ornament the banks of Folly Ditch.

In Jacob's Island the warehouses are roofless and
empty ; the walls are crumbling down ; the windows
are windows no more ; the doors are falling into the
streets ; the chimneys are blackened, but they yield
no smoke. Thirty or. forty years ago, before losses
and chancery suits came upon it, it was a thriving
place ; but now it is a desolate island indeed. The
houses have no owners ; they are broken open and
entered upon by those who have the courage ; and
there they live and there they die. They must have
powerful motives for a secret residence, or be reduced
to a destitute condition indeed, who seek a refuge in
Jacob's Island.

In an upper room of one of these houses a de
tached house of fair size, ruinous in other respects,
but strongly defended at door and window, of which
house the back commanded the ditch in manner al
ready described there were assembled three men,
who, regarding each other every now and then with
looks expressive of perplexity and expectation, sat
for some time in profound and gloomy silence. One
of these was Toby Crackit, another Mr. Chitling. and
the third a robber of fifty years, whose nose had been
almost beaten in, in some old scuffle, and whose face
bore a frightful scar which might probably be traced
to the same occasion. This man was a returned
transport, and his name was Kags.

" I wish," said Toby, turning to Mr. Chitling, " that
you had picked out some other crib when the two

158

OLIVER TWIST.

old ones got too warm, and had not come here, my
fine feller."

" Why didn't yon, blunderhead ?" said Kags.

" Well, I thought you'd have been a little more
glad to see me than this," replied Mr. Chitling, with
a melancholy air.

"Why look'e, young gentleman," said Toby, "when
a man keeps himself so very ex-elusive as I have
done, and by that means has a snug house over his
head, with nobody a-pryiug and smelling about it,
it's rather a startling thing to have the honor of a
wisit from a young gentleman (however respectable
and pleasant a person he may be to play cards with
at conweniency) circumstanced as you are."

" Especially when the exclusive young man has
got a friend stopping with him that's arrived sooner
than was expected from foreign parts, and is too
modest to want to be presented to the Judges ou his
return," added Mr. Kags.

There was a short silence, after which Toby Crack-
it, seeming to abandon as hopeless any further eifort
to maintain his usual devil-may-care swagger, turn
ed to Chitliug and said,

" When was Fagin took, then ?"

"Just at dinner-time two o'clock this afternoon.
Charley and I made our lucky up the wash'us chim
ney, and Bolter got into the empty water-butt, head
downward ; but his legs were so precious long that
they stuck out at the top, and so they took him too."

"And Bet?"

" Poor Bet ! She went to see the Body, to speak
to who it was," replied Chitling, his countenance
falling more and more, " and went off mad, scream
ing and raving, and beating her head against the
boards ; so they put a strait-weskut on her and took
her to the hospital and there she is."

" Wot's come of young Bates ?" demanded Kags.

" He hung about, not to come over here afore dark ;
but he'll be here soon," replied Chitliug. " There's
nowhere else to go to now, for the people at The
Cripples are all in custody, and the bar of the ken
I went up there and see it with my own eyes is
filled with traps."

" This is a smash !" observed Toby, biting his lips.
" There's more than one will go with this."

" The Sessions are on," said Kags. " If they get
the inquest over, and Bolter turns king's evidence
as of course he will, from what he's said already
they can prove Fagin an accessory before the fact,
and get the trial on on Friday, and he'll swing in six
days from this, by G !"

" You should have heard the people groan," said
Chitling ; " the officers fought like devils, or they'd
have torn him away. He was down once, but they
made a ring round him, and fought their way along.
You should have seen how he looked about him, all
muddy and bleeding, and clung to them as if they
were his dearest friends. I can see 7 em now, not
able to stand upright with the pressing of the mob,
and dragging him along among 'em ; I can see the
people jumping up, one behind another, and snarl
ing with their teeth and making at him like wild
beasts ; I can see the blood upon his hair and beard,
and hear the cries with which the women worked
themselves into the centre of the crowd at the street
corner, and swore they'd tear his heart out !"

The horror-stricken witness of this scene pressed
his hands upon his ears, and Avith his eyes closed got
up and paced violently to and fro, like one distracted.

While he was thus engaged, and the two men sat
by in silence with their eyes fixed upon the floor, a
pattering noise was heard upon the stairs, and Sikes's
dog bounded into the room. They ran to the win
dow, down stairs, and into the street. The dog had
jumped in at an open window ; he made no attempt
to follow them, nor was his master to be seen.

" What's the meaning of this ?" said Toby, when
they had returned. " He can't be coming here. I
I hope not."

" If he was coming here, he'd have come with the
dog," said Kags, stooping down to examine the ani
mal, who lay panting on the floor. " Here ! Give
us some water for him ; he has run himself faint."

" He's drunk it all up, every drop," said Chitling,
after watching the dog for some time in silence.
"Covered with mud lame half blind he must
have come a long way."

" Where can he have come from !" exclaimed Toby.
" He's been to the other kens of course, and finding
them filled with strangers, come on here, where he's
been many a time and often. But where can he
have come from first, and how comes he here alone
without the other !"

" He !" (none of them called the murderer by his
old name) " he can't have made away with himself.
What do you think ?" said Chitling.

Toby shook his head.

" If he had," said Kags, " the dog 'ud want to lead
us away to where he did it. No. I think he's got
out of the country, and left the dog behind. He
must have given him the slip somehow, or he wouldn't
be so easy."

This solution, appearing the most probable one,
was adopted as the right ; and the dog creeping un
der a chair, coiled himself up to sleep, without more
notice from any body.

It being now dark, the shutter was closed, and a
candle lighted and placed upon the table. The ter
rible events of the last two days had made a deep
impression on all three, increased by the danger and
uncertainty of their own position. They drew their
chairs closer together, starting at every sound. They
spoke little, and that in whispers, and were as silent
and awe-stricken as if the remains of the murdered
woman lay in the next room.

They had sat tints some time, when suddenly was
heard a hurried knocking at the door below.

" Young Bates," said Kags, looking angrily round,
to check the fear he felt himself.

The knocking came again. No. it wasn't he. He
never knocked like that.

Crackit went to the window, and, shaking all over,
drew in his head. There was no need to tell them
who it was ; his pale face was enough. The dog.
too, was on the alert in an instant, and ran whining
to the door.

"We must let him in," he said, taking up the
candle.

" Isn't there any help for it ?" asked the other man
in a hoarse voice.

" None. He must come in."

" Don't leave us in the dark," said Kags, taking

SIKES AXD THE BOY CHARLEY.

159

down a candle from the chimney-piece, and lighting
it, with such a trembling hand that the knocking
was twice repeated before he had finished.

Crackit went down to the door, and returned fol
lowed by a man with the lower part of his face
buried in a handkerchief and another tied over his
head under his hat. He drew them slowly off.
Blanched face, sunken eyes, hollow cheeks, beard of
three days' growth, wasted flesh, short thick breath ;
it was the very ghost of Sikes.

He laid his hand upon a chair which stood in the
middle of the room, but, shuddering as he was about
to drop into it, and seeming to glance over his shoul
der, dragged it back close to the wall as close as it
would go ground it against it and sat down.

Not a word had been exchanged. He looked from
one to another in silence. If an eye were furtively
raised and met his, it was instantly averted. When
his hollow voice broke silence, they all three started.
They seemed never to have heard its tones before.

" How came that dog here ?" he asked.

"Alone. Three hours ago."

" To-night's paper says that Fagin's taken. Is it
true, or a lie ?"

" True."

They were silent again.

"D you all!" said Sikes, passing his hand across
his forehead. " Have yon nothing to say to me f"

There was an uneasy movement among them, but
nobody spoke.

" You that keep this house," said Sikes, turning
his face to Crackit, " do yon mean to sell me, or to
let me lie here till this hunt is over ?"

" You may stop here, if you think it safe," returned
the person addressed, after some hesitation.

Sikes carried his eyes slowly up the wall behind
him, rather trying to turn his head than actually
doing it, and said, " Is it the body is it buried ?"

They shook their heads.

" Why isn't it ?" he retorted, with the same glance
behind him. "Wot do they keep such ugly things
above the ground for ? Who's that knocking ?"

Crackit intimated, by a motion of his hand as he
left the room, that there was nothing to fear ; and
directly came back with Charley Bates behind him.
Sikes sat opposite the door, so that the moment the
boy entered the room he encountered his figure.

" Toby," said the boy, falling back, as Sikes turned
his eyes toward him, "why didn't you tell me this
down stairs ?"

There had been something so tremendous in the
shrinking off of the three, that the wretched man
was willing to propitiate even this lad. According
ly he nodded, and made as though he would shake
hands with him.

" Let me go into some other room," said the boy,
retreating still farther.

" Charley !" said Sikes, stepping forward. " Don't
you don't you know me ?"

" Don't come nearer me," answered the boy, still
retreating, and looking, with horror in his eyes, upon
the murderer's face. " You monster !"

The man stopped half-way, and they looked at
each other ; but Sikes's eyes sunk gradually to the
ground.

" Witness you three," cried the boy, shaking his

clenched fist, and becoming more and more excited
as he spoke. "Witness you three I'm not afraid
of him if they come here after him, I'll give him
np; I will. I tell you out at once. He may kill
me for it if he likes, or if he dares, but if I'm here
I'll give him up. I'd give him up if he was to be
boiled alive. Murder ! Help ! If there's the pluck
of a man among you three, you'll help me. Murder !
Help ! Down with him !"

Pouring out these cries, and accompanying them
with violent gesticulation, the boy actually threw
himself, single-handed, upon the strong man, and in
the intensity of his energy and the suddenness of his
surprise, brought him heavily to the ground.

The three spectators seemed quite stupefied. They
offered no inteference, and the boy and man rolled
on the ground together ; the former, heedless of the
blows that showered upon him, wrenching his hands
tighter and tighter in the garments about the mur
derer's breast, and never ceasing to call for help
with all his might.

The contest, however, was too unequal to last
long. Sikes had him down, and his knee was on his
throat, when Crackit pulled him back with a look
of alarm, and pointed to the window. There were
lights gleaming below, voices in loud and earnest
conversation, the tramp of hurried footsteps end
less they seemed in number crossing the nearest
wooden bridge. One man on horseback seemed to
be among the crowd; for there was the noise of
hoofs rattling on the uneven pavement. The gleam
of lights increased ; the footsteps came more thickly
and noisily on. Then came a loud knocking at the
door, and then a hoarse murmur from such a multi
tude of angry voices as would have made the bold
est quail.

" Help !" shrieked the boy, in a voice that rent the
air. " He's here ! Break down the door!"

" In the king's name," cried the voices without ;
and the the hoarse cry arose again, but louder.

" Break down the door !" screamed the boy. " I
tell you they'll never open it ! Run straight to tin-
room where the light is. Break down the door !"

Strokes thick and heavy rattled upon the door
and lower window-shutters as he ceased to speak.
and a loud huzzah burst from the crowd, giving the
listener, for the first time, some adequate idea of its
immense extent.

" Open the door of some place where I can lock this
screeching hell-babe!" cried Sikes, fiercely, running
to and fro, and dragging the boy now as easily as it
he were an empty sack. " That door. Quick !"
He flung him in, bolted it, and turned the key. " Is
the down stairs door fast ?"

"Double-locked and chained," replied Crackit,
who, with the other two men, still remained quite
helpless and bewildered.

' The panels are they strong ?"
Lined with sheet-iron."
And the windows too f "

' Yes, and the windows."

' D you !" cried the desperate ruffian, throwing
up the sash and menacing the crowd. " Do your
worst ! I'll cheat you yet !"

Of all the terrific yells that ever fell on mortal
ears, none could exceed the cry of the infuriated

160

OLIVER TWIST.

throng. Some shouted to those who were nearest
to set the house on lire ; others roared to the officers
to shoot him dead. Among them all, none showed
snch fury as the man on horseback, who, throwing
himself out of the saddle, and bursting through the
crowd as if he were parting water, cried, beneath
the window, in a voice that rose above all others,
" Twenty guineas to the man who brings a ladder !"
The nearest voices took up the cry, and hundreds
echoed it. Some called for ladders, some for sledge
hammers ; some ran with torches to and fro as if to
seek them, and still came back and roared again;
some spent their breath in impotent curses and exe
crations ; some pressed forward with the ecstasy of
madmen, and thus impeded the progress of those be
low; some among the boldest attempted to climb

room where the boy was locked, and that was too
small even for the passage of his body. But, from
this aperture, he had never ceased to call on those
without to guard the back ; and thus, when the mur
derer emerged at last on the house-top by the door
in the roof, a loud shout proclaimed the fact to those
in front, who immediately began to pour round, press
ing upon each other in one unbroken stream.

He planted a board, which he had carried up with
him for the purpose, so firmly against the door that
it must be matter of great difficulty to open it from
the inside ; and creeping over the tiles, looked over
the low parapet.

The water was out, and the ditch a bed of mud.

The crowd had been hushed during these few mo
ments, watching his motions and doubtful of hispur-

"AND CHEEPING OVER THE TILES, LOOKED OVEU THE LOW PAKAPET."

up by the water-spoilt and crevices in the wall ; and
all waved to and fro, in the darkness beneath, like a
field of corn moved by an angry wind, and joined
from time to time in one loud furious roar.

"The tide," cried the murderer, as he staggered
back into the room, and shut the faces out, " the tide
was in as I came up. Give me a rope, a long rope.
They're all in front. I may drop into the Folly Ditch,
aud clear off that way. Give me a rope, or I shall
do three more murders and kill myself."

The panic-stricken men pointed to where such ar
ticles were kept ; the murderer, hastily selecting the
longest and strongest cord, hurried up to the house
top.

All the windows in the rear of the house had been
long ago bricked up, except one small trap in the

pose, but the instant they perceived it and knew it
was defeated they raised a cry of triumphant exe
cration to which all their previous shouting had
been whispers. Again and again it rose. Those
who were at too great a distance to know its mean
ing took up the sound ; it echoed and re-echoed ; it
seemed as though the whole city had poured its pop
ulation out to curse him.

On pressed the people from the front on, on, on,
in a strong struggling current of angry faces, with
here and there a glaring torch to light them up, and
show them out in all their wrath and passion. The
houses on the opposite side of the ditch had been en
tered by the mob ; sashes were thrown up, or torn
bodily out ; there were tiers and tiers of faces in ev
ery window, and cluster upon cluster of people cling-

OLIVER EE 'VIS ITS HIS BIRTHPLACE.

131

ing to every house-top. Each little bridge (arid there
were three in sight) beiit beneath the weight of the
crowd upon it. Still the current poured on to find
some nook or hole from which to vent their shouts,
and only for an instant see the wretch.

" They have him now !" cried a man on the nearest
bridge. ' ' Hurrah !"

The crowd grew light with uncovered heads ; and
again the shout uprose.

" I will give fifty pounds," cried an old gentleman
from the same quarter, " to the man who takes him
alive. I will remain here till he comes to ask me
for it."

There was another roar. At this moment the
word was passed among the crowd that* the door
was forced at last, and that he who had first called
for the ladder had mounted into the room. The
stream abruptly turned as this intelligence ran from
mouth to mouth; and the people at the windows,
seeing those upon the bridges pouring back, quitted
their stations, and, running into the street, joined the
concourse that now thronged pell-mell to the spot
they had left, each man crushing and striving with
his neighbor, and all panting with impatience to get
near the door, and look npoii the criminal as the of
ficers brought him out. The cries and shrieks of
those who were pressed almost to suffocation, or
trampled down and trodden under foot in the con
fusion, were dreadful ; the narrow ways were com
pletely blocked up ; and at this time, between the
rush of some to regain the space in front of the
house, and the unavailing struggles of others to ex-
tricate themselves from the mass, the immediate at
tention was distracted from the murderer, although
the universal eagerness for his capture was, if possi
ble, increased.

The man had shrank down, thoroughly quelled by
the ferocity of the crowd and the impossibility of
escape ; but seeiug this sudden change with no less
rapidity than it had occurred, he sprang upon his
feet, determiued to make one last effort for his life
by dropping into the ditch, and, at the risk of being
stifled, endeavoring to creep away in the darkness
and confusion.

Roused into new strength and energy, and stimu
lated by the noise within the house, which announced
that an entrance had really been effected, he set his
foot against the stack of chimneys, fastened one end
of the rope tightly and firmly round it, and with the
other made a strong running noose, by the aid of his
hands and teeth, almost in a second. He could let
himself down by the cord to within a less distance
of the ground than his own height, and had his knife
ready in his hand to cut it then and drop.

At the very instant when he brought the loop over
his head previous to slipping it beneath his armpits,
and when the old gentleman before mentioned (who
had clung so tight to the railing of the bridge as to
resist the force of the crowd, and retain his position)
earnestly warned those about him that the man was
about to lower himself down at that very instant
the murderer, looking behind him on the roof, threw
his arms above his head and uttered a yell of terror.

" The eyes again !" he cried, in an unearthly
screech.

Staggering as if struck by lightning, he lost his
L

balance and tumbled over the parapet. The noose
was on his neck. It ran up with his weight tight as
a bow-string, and swift as the arrow it speeds. He
fell for five-aud-thirty feet. There was a sudden
jerk, a terrific convulsion of the limbs ; and there he
hung, with the open knife clinched in his stiffening
hand.

The old chimney quivered with the shock, but
stood it bravely. The murderer swung lifeless
against the wall ; and the boy, thrusting aside the
dangling body which obscured his view, called to
the people to come and take him out, for God's sake.

A dog which had lain concealed till now ran back
ward and forward on the parapet with a dismal howl,
and collecting himself for a spring, jumped for the
dead man's shoulders. Missing his aim, he fell into
the ditch, turning completely over as he went, and
striking his head against a stone, dashed out his
brains.

CHAPTER LI.

AFFORDING AN EXPLANATION OF MORE MYSTERIES THAN
ONE, AND COMPREHENDING A PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE
WITH NO WORD OF SETTLEMENT OR PIN-MONEY.

THE events narrated in the last chapter were yet
but two days old when Oliver found himself, at
three o'clock in the afternoon, in a traveling-carnage
rolling fast toward his native town. Mrs. Maylie,
and Rose, and Mrs. Bedwiu, and the good doctor,
were with him ; and Mr. Brownlow followed in a
post-chaise, accompanied by one other person, whose
name had not been mentioned.

They had not talked much upon the way ; for Ol
iver was in a flutter of agitation and uncertainty
which deprived him of the power of collecting his
thoughts, and almost of speech, and appeared to
have scarcely less effect on his companions, who
shared it in at least an equal degree. He and the
two ladies had been very carefully made acquainted
by Mr. Brownlow with the nature of the admissions
which had been forced from Monks; and although
they knew that the object of their present journey
was to complete the work which had been so well
begun, still the whole matter was enveloped in
enough of doubt and mystery to leave them in en
durance of the most intense suspense.

The same kind friend had, with Mr. Losberne's as
sistance, cautiously stopped all channels of commu
nication through which they could receive intelli
gence of the dreadful occurrences that had so recent
ly taken place. " It was quite true," he said, " that
they must know them before long, but it might be at
a better time than the present, and it could not be at
a worse." So they traveled on in silence, each busied
with reflections on the object which had brought
them together, and no one disposed to give utterance
to the thoughts which crowded upon all.

But if Oliver, under these influences, had remained
silent while they journeyed toward his birthplace
by a road he had never seen, how the whole current
of his recollections ran back to old times, and what a
crowd of emotions were wakened up in his breast.
when they turned into that which he had traversed

162

OLIVER TWIST.

on foot a poor houseless, wandering boy, without a
friend to help him, or a roof to shelter his head.

" See there, there ! cried Oliver, eagerly clasping
the hand of Rose, and pointing out at the carriage
window ; " that's the stile I caine over ; there are the
hedges I crept behind, for fear any one should over
take me arid force me back! Yonder is the path
across the iields, leading to the old house where I
was a little child ! Oh Dick, Dick, my dear old friend,
if I could only see you now !"

" You will see him soon," replied Rose, gently tak
ing his folded hands between her own. " You shall
tell him how happy you are, and how rich you have
grown, and that in all your happiness you have none
so great as the coming back to make him happy too."

" Yes, yes." said Oliver, " and we'll we'll take him
away from here, and have him clothed and taught,
and send him to some quiet country place where he
may grow strong and well shall we ?"

Rose nodded " yes ;" for the boy was smiling
through such happy tears that she could not speak.

" You will be kind and good to him, for you are to
every one," said Oliver. "It will make you cry, I
know, to hear what he can tell ; but never mind,
never mind : it will be all over, and you will smile
again I know that too to think how changed he
is ; you did the same with me. He said ' God bless
you ' to me when I ran away," cried the boy, with a
burst of affectionate emotion, " and I will say ' God
bless you ' now, and show him how I love him for it !"

As they approached the town, and at length drove
through its narrow streets, it became matter of no
small difficulty to restrain the boy within reasonable
bounds. There was Sowerberry's, the undertaker's,
just as it used to be, only smaller and less imposing
in appearance than he remembered it there were
all the well-known shops and houses, with almost ev
ery one of which he had some slight incident con
nected there was Gamfield's cart, the very cart he
used to have, standing at the old public-house door
there was the work-house, the dreary prison of his
youthful days, with its dismal windows frowning on
the street there was the same lean porter standing
at the gate, at sight of whom Oliver involuntarily
shrunk back, and then laughed at himself for being
so foolish, then cried, then laughed again there were
scores of faces at the doors and windows that he knew
quite well there was nearly every thing as if he
had left it but yesterday, and all his recent life had
been but a happy dream.

But it was pure, earnest, joyful reality. They
drove straight to the door of the chief hotel (which
Oliver used to stare up at with awe, and think a
mighty palace, but which had somehow fallen off in
grandeur and size); and here was Mr. Grim wig all
ready to receive them, kissing the young lady, and
the old one too, when they got out of the coach, as if
he were the grandfather of the whole party, all smiles
and kindness, and not offering to eat his head no,
not once ; not even when he contradicted a very old
postboy about the nearest road to London, and main
tained he knew it best, though he had only come that
way once, and that time fast asleep. There was din
ner prepared, and there were bedrooms ready, and
every thing was arranged as if by magic.

Notwithstanding all this, when the hurry of the

first half hour was over, the same silence and con
straint prevailed that had marked their journey
down. Mr. Brownlow did not join them at dinner,
but remained in a separate room. The two other
gentlemen hurried in and out with anxious faces,
and during the short intervals when they were pres
ent conversed apart. Once Mrs. Maylie was called
away, and, after being absent for nearly an hour, re
turned with eyes swollen with weeping. All these
things made Rose and Oliver, who were not in any
new secrets, nervous and uncomfortable. They sat
wondering, in silence ; or, if they exchanged a few
words, spoke in whispers, as if they were afraid to
hear the sound of their own voices.

At length, when nine o'clock had come, and they
began to think they were to hear no more that night,
Mr. Losberne and Mr. Grimwig entered the room, fol
lowed by Mr. Brownlow and a man whom Oliver al
most shrieked with surprise to see ; for they told him
it was his brother, and it was the same man he had
met at the market-town, and seen looking in with
Fagin at the window of his little room. Monks cast
a look of hate, which, even then, he could not dissem
ble, at the astonished boy, and sat down near the
door. Mr. Brownlow, who had papers in his hand,
walked to a table near which Rose and Oliver were
seated.

" This is a painful task," said he, " but these dec
larations, which have been signed in London before
many gentlemen, must be in substance repeated here.
I would have spared you the degradation, but we
must hear them from your own lips before we part,
and you know why."

" Go on," said the person addressed, turning away
his face. " Quick. I have almost done enough, I
think. Don't keep me here."

" This child," said Mr. Brownlow, drawing Oliver
to him, and laying his hand upon his head, " is your
half-brother ; the illegitimate son of your father, my
dear friend Edwin Leeford, by poor young Agnes
Fleming, who died in giving him birth."

" Yes," said Monks, scowling at the trembling boy,
the beating of whose heart he might have heard.
" That is their bastard child."

"The term you use," said Mr. Brownlow, sternly,
"is a reproach to those who long since passed be
yond the feeble censure of the world. It reflects
disgrace on no one living, except you who use it.
Let that pass. He was born in this town."

" In the work-house of this town," was the sullen
reply. " You have the story there." He pointed im
patiently to the papers as he spoke.

"I must have it here, too," said Mr. Brownlow,
looking round upon the listeners.

" Listen then ! You !" returned Monks. " His fa
ther being taken ill at Rome, was joined by his wife,
my mother, from whom he had been long separated,
who went from Paris and took me with her to look
after his property, for what I know, for she had no
great affection for him, nor he for her. He knew
nothing of us, for his senses were gone, and he slum
bered on till next day, when he died. Among the
papers in his desk were two, dated on the night his
illness first came on, directed to yourself " he ad
dressed himself to Mr. Brownlow " and inclosed in
a few short lines to you, with an intimation on the

RELUCTANT ADMISSIONS.

163

cover of the package that it was not to be forwarded
till after he was dead. One of these papers was a
letter to this girl Agnes ; the other a will."

" What of the letter ?" asked Mr. Brownlow.

" The letter ? A sheet of paper crossed and cross
ed again, with a penitent confession, and prayers to
God to help her. He had palmed a tale on the girl
that some secret mystery to be explained one day
prevented his marrying her just then ; and so she
had gone on; trusting patiently to him, until she
trusted too far, and lost what none could ever give
her back. She was at that time within a few months
of her confinement. He told her all he had meant
to do to hide her shame if he had lived, and prayed
her, if he died, not to curse his memory, or think the
consequences of their sin would be visited on her or
their young child; for all the guilt was his. He re
minded her of the day he had given her the little
locket and the ring with her Christian name en
graved upon it, and a blank left for that which he
hoped one day to have bestowed upon her prayed
her yet to keep it, and wear it next her heart, as she
had done before and then ran on wildly in the same
words, over and over again, as if he had gone dis
tracted. I believe he had."

" The will," said Mr. Brownlow, as Oliver's tears
fell fast.

Monks was silent.

"The will," said Mr. Brownlow, speaking for him,
" was in the same spirit as the letter. He talked of
miseries which his wife had brought upon him ; of
the rebellious disposition, vice, malice, and prema
ture bad passions of you, his only son, who had been
trained to hate him ; and left you and your mother
each an annuity of eight hundred pounds. The bulk
of his property he divided into two equal portions
one for Agues Fleming, and the other for their child,
if it should be born alive and ever come of age. If it
were a girl, it was to inherit the money uncondition
ally ; but if a boy, only on the stipulation that in his
minority he should never have stained his name with
any public act of dishonor, meanness, cowardice, or
wrong. He did this, he said, to mark his confidence
in the mother, and his conviction only strengthen
ed by approaching death that the child would share
her gentle heart and noble nature. If he were dis
appointed in this expectation, then the money was
to come to you; for then, and not till then, when
both children were equal, would he recognize your
prior claim upon his purse, who had none upon his
heart, but had, from an infant, repulsed him with
coldness and aversion.

"My mother," said Monks, in a louder tone, "did
what a woman should have done. She burned this
will. The letter never reached its destination ; but
that and other proofs she kept, in case they ever
tried to lie away the blot. The girl's father had the
truth from her with every aggravation that her vio
lent hate I love her for it now could add. Goad
ed by shame and dishonor, he fled with his children
into a remote corner of Wales, changing his very
name, that his friends might never know of his re
treat ; and here, no great while afterward, he was
found dead in his bed. The girl had left her home,
in secret, some weeks before ; he had searched for
her, on foot, in every town and village near ; it was

on the night when he returned home, assured that
she had destroyed herself to hide her shame and his,
that his old heart broke.

There was a short silence here, until Mr. Brown-
low took up the thread of the narrative.

" Years after this," he said, " this man's Edward
Leeford's mother came to me. He had left her
when only eighteen; robbed her of jewels and mon
ey; gambled, squandered, forged, and fled to Lon
don, where for two years he had associated with the
lowest outcasts. She was sinking under a painful
and incurable disease, and wished to recover him be
fore she died. Inquiries were set on foot, and strict
searches made. They were unavailing for a long
time, but ultimately successful ; and he went back
with her to France."

" There she died," said Monks, " after a lingering
illness ; and on her death-bed she bequeathed these
secrets to me, together with her unquenchable and
deadly hatred of all whom they involved though
she need not have left me that, for I had inherited
it long before. She would not believe that the girl
had destroyed herself and the child too, but was
filled with the impression that a male child had been
born, and was alive. I swore to her, if ever it cross
ed my path, to hunt it down ; never to let it rest ; to
pursue it with the bitterest and most unrelenting
animosity ; to vent upon it the hatred that I deeply
felt, and to spit upon the empty vaunt of that insult
ing will by dragging it, if I could, to the very gal
lows-foot. She was right. He came in my way at
last. I began well ; and, but for babbling drabs, I
would have finished as I began !"

As the villain folded his arms tight together, and
muttered curses on himself in the impotence of baf
fled malice, Mr. Brownlow turned to the terrified
group beside him, and explained that the Jew, who
had been his old accomplice and confidant, had a
large reward for keeping Oliver ensnared, of which
some part was to be given up in the event of his be
ing rescued, and that a dispute on this head had led
to their visit to the country house for the purpose of
identifying him.

" The locket and ring ?" said Mr. Brownlow, turn
ing to Monks.

" I bought them from the man and woman I told
you of, who stole them from the nurse, who stole
them from the corpse," answered Monks, without
raising his eyes. " You know what became of them."

Mr. Brownlow merely nodded to Mr. Grimwig, who,
disappearing with great alacrity, shortly returned,
pushing in Mrs. Bumble, and dragging her unwilling
consort after him.

" Do my hi's deceive me !" cried Mr. Bumble, with
ill-feigned enthusiasm, " or is that little Oliver ? Oh
Ol-i-ver, if you know'd how I've been a-grieving for
you "

" Hold your tongue, fool !" murmured Mrs. Bumble.

"Isn't natur natur, Mrs. Bumble?" remonstrated
the work-house master. " Can't I be supposed to
feel / as brought him up porochially when I see
him a setting here among ladies and gentlemen of
the very affablest description ! I always loved that
boy as if he'd been my my my own grandfather,"
said Mr. Bumble, halting for an appropriate compar
ison. " Master Oliver, my dear, you remember the

Iu4

OLIVER TWIST.

blessed gentleman in the white waistcoat ? Ah ! he
went to heaven last week, in a oak coffin with plated
handles, Oliver."

" Come, sir," said Mr. Grimwig, tartly ; " suppress
your feelings."

" I will do my endeavors, sir," replied Mr. Bumble.
" How do you do, sir ? I hope you are very well."

This salutation was addressed to Mr. Brownlow,
who had stepped up to within a short distance of the
respectable couple. He inquired, as he pointed to
Monks :

" Do you know that person ?"

li No," replied Mrs. Bumble, flatly.

" Perhaps you don't ?" said Mr. Brownlow, address
ing her spouse.

" I never saw him in all my life," said Mr. Bum
ble.

" Nor sold him any thing, perhaps ?"

" No," replied Mrs. Bumble.

"You never had, perhaps, a certain gold locket
and ring ?" said Mr. Brownlow.

" Certainly not," replied the matron. " Why are
we brought here to answer to such nonsense as this ?"

Again Mr. Brownlow nodded to Mr. Grimwig ; and
again that gentleman limped away with extraordi
nary readiness. But not again did he return with a
stout man and his wife ; for this time he led in two
palsied women, who shook and tottered as they
walked.

"You shut the door the night old Sally died," said
the foremost one, raising her shriveled hand, " but
you couldn't shut out the sound, nor stop the chinks."

" No, no," said the other, looking round her and
wagging her toothless jaws. " No, no, no."

" We heard her try to tell you what she'd done,
and saw you take a paper from her hand, and watch
ed you too, next day, to the pawnbroker's shop," said
the first.

"Yes," added the second, "and it was a 'locket
and gold ring.' We found out that, and saw it given
you. We were by. Oh ! we were by."

"And we know more than that," resumed the first,
" for she told us often, long ago, that the young moth
er had told her that, feeling she should never get
over it, she was on her way, at the time she was tak
en ill, to die near the grave of the father of the child."

" Would you like to see the pawnbroker himself?"
asked Mr. Grimwig, with a motion toward the door.

" No," replied the woman ; " if he " she pointed
to Monks " has been coward enough to confess, as I
see he has, and you have sounded all these hags till
you have found the right ones, I have nothing more
to say. I did sell them, and they're where you'll
never get them. What then ?"

" Nothing," replied Mr. Brownlow, " except that it
remains for us to take care that neither of you is em
ployed in a situation of trust again. You may leave
the room."

" I hope," said Mr. Bumble, looking about him with
great ruefulness, as Mr. Grimwig disappeared with
the two old women " I hope that this unfortunate
little circumstance will not deprive me of my poro-
chial office ?"

" Indeed it will," replied Mr. Brownlow. " You
may make up your mind to that, and think yourself
well off besides."

" It was all Mrs. Bumble. She would do it," urged
Mr. Bumble, first looking round to ascertain that his
partner had left the room.

" That is no excuse," replied Mr. Brownlow. " You
were present on the occasion of the destruction of
these trinkets, and indeed are the more guilty of the
two, in the eye of the law ; for the law supposes that
your wife acts under your direction."

"If the law supposes that," said Mr. Bumble,
squeezing his hat emphatically in both hands, " the
law is a ass a idiot. If that's the eye of the law,
the law is a bachelor ; and the worst I wish the law
is, that his eye may be opened by experience by ex
perience."

Laying great stress on the repetition of these two
words, Mr. Bumble fixed his hat on very tight, and,
putting his hands in his pockets, followed his help
mate down stairs.

"Young lady," said Mr. Brownlow, turning to Rose,
"give me your hand. Do not tremble. You need
not fear to hear the few remaining words we have to
say."

" If they have I do not know how they can, but
if they have any reference to me," said Rose, " pray
let me hear them at some other time. I have not
strength or spirits now."

" Nay," returned the old gentleman, drawing her
arm through his; "you have more fortitude than
this, I am sure. Do you know this young lady, sir ?"

" Yes," replied Monks.

" I never saw you before," said Rose, faintly.

" I have seen you often," returned Monks.

" The father of the unhappy Agnes had two daugh
ters," said Mr. Brownlow. " What was the fate of
the other the child?"

" The child," replied Monks ; " when her father
died in a strange place, in a strange name, without a
letter, book, or scrap of paper that yielded the faint
est clue by which his friends or relatives could be
traced the child was taken by some wretched cot
tagers, who reared it as their own."

" Go on," said Mr. Brownlow, signing to Mrs. May-
lie to approach. " Go on !"

" You couldn't find the spot to which these people
had repaired," said Monks ; " but where friendship
fails, hatred will often force a way. My mother
found it, after a year of cunning search ay, and
found the child."

"She took it, did she?"

" No. The people were poor and began to sicken
at least the man did of their fine humanity ; so
she left it with them, giving them a small present of
money which would not last long, and promising
more, which she never meant to send. She didn't
quite rely, however, on their discontent and poverty
for the child's unhappiness, but told the histoiy of
her sister's shame, with such alterations as suited
her ; bade them take good heed of the child, for she
came of bad blood ; and told them she was illegiti
mate, and sure to go wrong at one time or other.
The circumstances countenanced all this ; the people
believed it ; and there the child dragged on an ex
istence, miserable enough even to satisfy us, until a
widow lady, residing then at Chester, saw the girl
by chance, pitied her, and took her home. There was
some cursed spell, I think, against us ; for in spite of

OLIVER FINDS A NEW RELATION.

165

all our efforts she remained there and was happy. I
lost sight of her two or three years ago, and saw her
no more until a few months back."

" Do you see her now ?"

" Yes. Leaning on your arm."

" But not the less my niece," cried Mrs. Maylie,
folding the fainting girl in her arms ; " not the less
my dearest child. I would not lose her now for all
the treasures of the world. My sweet companion,
my own dear girl !"

" The only friend I ever had," cried Rose, clinging
to her. " The kindest, best of friends. My heart
will burst. I can not bear all this !"

" You have borne more, and have been through

Joy and grief were mingled in the cup ; but there
were no bitter tears : for even grief itself arose so
softened, and clothed in such sweet and tender rec
ollections, that it became a solemn pleasure, and lost
all character of pain.

They were a long, long time alone. A soft tap at
the door at length announced that some one was
without. Oliver opened it, glided away, and gave
place to Harry Maylie.

" I know it all," he said, taking a seat beside the
lovely girl. " Dear Rose, I know it all."

" I am not here by accident," he added, after a
lengthened silence; "nor have I heard all this to
night, for I knew it yesterday only yesterday. Do

"DO YOU KNOW THIS YOITNG LADJT, SIB?"

all the best and gentlest creature that ever shed
happiness on every one she knew," said Mrs. Maylie,
embracing her tenderly. " Come, come, my love, re
member who this is who waits to clasp you in his
arms, poor child ! See here look, look, my dear !"

" Not aunt," cried Oliver, throwing his arms about
her neck ; " I'll never call her aunt sister, my own
dear sister, that something taught my heart to love
so dearly from the first ! Rose ! dear, darling
Rose!"

Let the tears which fell, and the broken words
which were exchanged in the long close embrace be
tween the orphans, be sacred. A father, sister, and
mother were gained and lost in that one moment.

you guess that I have come to remind you of a
promise ?"

" Stay," said Rose. " You do know all."

"All. You gave me leave, at any time within a
year, to renew the subject of our last discourse."

" I did."

" Not to press you to alter your determination,"
pursued the young man, " but to hear you repeat it,
if you would. I was to lay whatever of station or
fortune I might possess at your feet ; and if you still
adhered to your former determination, I pledged my
self, by no word or act, to seek to change it."

" The same reasons which influenced nie then will
influence me now," said Rose, firmly. "If I ever

IOC

OLIVER TWIST.

owed a strict and rigid duty to her whose goodness
saved me from a life of indigence and suffering, when
should I ever feel it as I should to-night ? It is a
struggle," said Rose, " but one I am proud to make ;
it is a pang, but one my heart shall bear."

" The disclosure of to-night " Harry began.

" The disclosure of to-night/' replied Rose, softly,
" leaves me in the same position, with reference to
you, as that in which I stood before."

" You harden your heart against me, Rose," urged
her lover.

" Oh, Harry, Harry," said the young lady, bursting
into tears, " I wish I could, and spare myself this
pain."

" Then why inflict *t on yourself?" said Harry, tak
ing her hand. " Think, dear Rose, think what you
have heard to-night."

" And what have I heard ! What have I heard !"
cried Rose. " That a sense of his deep disgrace so
worked upon my own father that he shunned all
there, we have said enough, Harry, we have said
enough."

" Not yet, not yet," said the young man, detaining
her as she rose. " My hopes, my wishes, prospects,
feelings every thought in life except my love for
you have undergone a change. I offer you, now,
no distinction among a bustling crowd ; no mingling
with a world of malice and detraction, where the
blood is called into honest cheeks by aught but real
disgrace and shame ; but a home a heart and home
yes, dearest Rose ; and those, and those alone, are
all I have to offer."

" What do you mean ?" she faltered.

" I mean but this that when I left you last, I left
you with a firm determination to level all fancied
barriers between yourself and me ; resolved that if
my world could not be yours, I would make yours
mine ; that no pride of birth should curl the lip at
you, for I would turn from it. This I have 'done.
Those who have shrunk from me because of this,
have shrunk from you, and proved you so far right.
Such power and patronage, such relatives of influence
and rank, as smiled upon me then, look coldly now ;
but there are smiling fields and waving trees in En
gland's richest county ; and by one village church-
mine, Rose, my own ! there stands a rustic dwelling
which you can make me prouder of than all the
hopes I have renounced, measured a thousand-fold.
This is my rank and station now, and here I lay it

down !"

******

" It's a trying thing waiting supper for lovers,"
said Mr. Grimwig, waking up, and pulling his pock
et-handkerchief from over his head.

Truth to tell, the supper had been waiting a most
unreasonable time. Neither Mrs. Maylie, nor Harry,
nor Rose (who all came in together), could offer a
word in extenuation.

"I had serious thoughts of eating my head to
night," said Mr. Grimwig, " for I began to think I
should get nothing else. I'll take the liberty, if
you'll allow me, of saluting the bride that is to be."

Mr. Grimwig lost no time in carrying this notice
into effect upon the blushing girl ; and the example
being contagious, was followed both by the doctor
and Mr. Brownlow : some people affirm that Harry

Maylie had been observed to set it, originally, in a
dark room adjoining ; but the best authorities con
sider this downright scandal, he being young and a
clergyman.

" Oliver, my child," said Mrs. Maylie, " where have
you been, and why do you look so sad ? There are
tears stealing down your face at this moment. What
is the matter ?"

It is a world of disappointment often to the
hopes we most cherish, and hopes that do our nature
the greatest honor.

Poor Dick was dead !

CHAPTER LII.

FAGIN'S LAST NIGHT ALIVE.

rTIHE court was paved from floor to roof with hu-
i man faces. Inquisitive and eager eyes peered
from every inch of space. From the rail before the
dock, away into the sharpest angle of the smallest
corner in the galleries, all looks were fixed upon one
man Fagin. Before him and behind above, be
low, on the right and on the left he seemed to
stand surrounded by a firmament all .bright with
gleaming eyes.

He stood there, in all this glare of living light,
with one hand resting on the wooden slab before
him, the other held to his ear, and his head thrust
forward to enable him to catch with greater dis
tinctness every word that fell from the presiding
judge, who was delivering his charge to the jury.
At times he turned his eyes sharply upon them, to
observe the effect of the slightest feather-weight in
his favor; and when the points against him were
stated with terrible distinctness, looked toward his
counsel, in mute appeal that he would, even then,
urge something in his behalf. Beyond these mani
festations of anxiety, he stirred not hand or foot.
He had scarcely moved since the trial began ; and
now that the judge ceased to speak, he still remain
ed in the same strained attitude of close attention,
with his gaze bent on him, as though he listened
still.

A slight bustle in the court recalled him to him
self. Looking round, he saw that the jurymen had
turned together, to consider of their verdict. As his
eyes wandered to the gallery, he could see the people
rising above each other to see his face, some hastily
applying their glasses to their eyes, and others whis
pering their neighbors with looks expressive of ab
horrence. A few there were who seemed unmindful
of him, and looked only to the jury, in impatient
wonder how they could delay. But in no one face
not even among the women, of whom there were
many there could he read the faintest sympathy
with himself, or any feeling but one of all-absorbing
interest that he should be condemned.

As he saw all this in one bewildered glance, the
death-like stillness came again, and looking back, he
saw that the jurymen had turned toward the judge.
Hush!

They only sought permission to retire.

He looked wistfully into their faces, one by one,
when they passed out, as though to see which way

WAXDEHIXG MIND AXD IMPRISONED BODY.

167

the greater number leaned; but that was fruitless.
The jailer touched him on the shoulder. He follow
ed mechanically to the end of the dock, and sat down
on a chair. The man pointed it out, or he would not
have seen it.

He looked up into the gallery again. Some of the
people were eating, and some fanning themselves
with handkerchiefs ; for the crowded place was very
hot. There was one young man sketching his face
in a little note-book. He wondered whether it was
like, and looked on when the artist broke his pencil-
point and made another with his knife, as any idle
spectator might have done.

In the same way, when he turned his eyes toward
the judge, his mind began to busy itself with the
fashion of his dress, and what it cost, and how he
put it on. There was an old fat gentleman on the
bench, too, who had gone out some half an hour
before, and now come back. He wondered within
himself whether this man had been to get his dinner,
what he had had, and where he had had it ; and pur
sued this train of careless thought until some new
object caught his eye and roused another.

Not. that, all this time, his mind was for an instant
free from one oppressive, overwhelming sense of the
grave that opened at his feet : it was ever present to
him, but in a vague and general way, and he could
not fix his thoughfs upon it. Thus, even while he
trembled, and turned burning hot at the idea of
speedy death, he fell to counting the iron spikes be
fore him, and wondering how the head of one had
been broken off, and whether they would mend it, or
leave it as it was. Then he thought of all the hor
rors of the gallows and the scaffold and stopped to
watch a man sprinkling the floor to cool it and
then went on to think again.

At length there was a cry of silence, and a breath
less look from all toward the door. The jury re
turned, and passed him close. He could glean noth
ing from their faces ; they might as well have been
of stone. Perfect stillness ensued not a rustle not
a breath Guilty.

The building rang with a tremendous shout, and
another, and another, and then it echoed loud groans,
that gathered strength as. they swelled out, like an
gry thunder. It was a peal of joy from the populace
outside, greeting the news that he would die on
Monday.

The noise subsided, and he was asked if he had
any thing to say why sentence of death should not
be passed upon him. He had resumed his listening
attitude, and looked intently at his questioner while
the demand was made ; but it was twice repeated
before he seemed to hear it, and then he only mut
tered that he was an old man an old man an old
man and so, dropping into a whisper, was silent
again.

The judge assumed the black cap, and the prisoner
still stood with the same air and gesture. A woman
in the gallery uttered some exclamation, called forth
by this dread solemnity; he looked hastily up as if
angry at the interruption, and bent forward yet more
attentively. The address was solemn and impress
ive, the sentence fearful to hear. But he stood like
a marble figure, without the motion of a nerve. His
. haggard face was still thrust forward, lib uuder-jaw

hanging down, and his eyes staring out before him,
| when the jailer put his hand upon his arm, and beck
oned him away. He gazed stupidly about him for
an instant, and obeyed.

They led him through a paved room under the
court, where some prisoners were waiting till their
turns came, and others were talking to their friends,
who crowded round a grate which looked into the
open yard. There was nobody there to speak to
him; but, as he passed, the prisoners fell back to ren
der him more visible to the people who were cling
ing to the bars ; and they assailed him with oppro
brious names, and screeched and hissed. He shook
his fist, and would have spat upon them ; but his
conductors hurried him on, through a gloomy pas
sage lighted by a few dim lamps, into the interior of
the prison.

Here he was searched, that he might not have
| about him the means of anticipating the law ; this
j ceremony performed, they led him to one of the con
demned cells, and left him there alone.

He sat down on a stone bench opposite the door,
which served for seat and bedstead ; and casting his
blood-shot eyes upon the ground, tried to collect his
thoughts. After a while he began to remember a
few disjointed fragments of what the judge had said,
though it had seemed to him at the time that he
could not hear a word. These gradually fell into
their proper places, and by degrees suggested more ;
so that in a little time he had the whole, almost as
it was delivered. To be hanged by the neck till he
was dead that was the end. To be hanged by the
neck till he was dead.

As it came on very dark, he began to think of all
the men he had known who had died upon the scaf
fold some of them through his means. They rose
up in such quick succession that he could hardly
count them. He had seen some of them die and
had joked, too, because they died with prayers upon
their lips. With what a rattling noise the drop
went down ! and how suddenly they changed from
strong and vigorous men to dangling heaps of
clothes!

Some of them might have inhabited that very cell
sat upon that very spot. It was very dark ; why
didn't they bring a light ? The cell had been built
for many years. Scores of men must have passed
their last hours there. It was like sitting in a vault
strewn with dead bodies the cap, the noose, the
pinioned arms, the faces that he knew, even beneath
that hideous veil. Light ! light !

At length, when his hands were raw with beating

against the heavy door and walls, two men appeared,

] one bearing a candle, which he thrust into an iron

j candlestick fixed against the wall, the other dragging

in a mattress on which to pass the night; for the

prisoner was to be left alone no more.

Then came night dark, dismal, silent night.
Other watchers are glad to hear the church-clocks
strike, for they tell of life and coming day. To him
they brought despair. The boom of every iron bell
came laden with the one deep, hollow sound Death.
What availed the noise and bustle of cheerful morn
ing, which penetrated even there, to him ? It was
another form of knell, with mockery added to the
warning.

OLIVER TWIST.

The day passed off. Day ? There was no day ;
it was gone as soon as come and night came on
again ; night so long, and yet so short ; long in its
dreadful silence, and short in its fleeting hours. At
one time he raved and blasphemed ; and at another
howled and tore his hair. Venerable men of his own
persuasion had come to pray beside him, but he had
driven them away with curses. They renewed their
charitable efforts, and he beat them off.

Saturday night. He had only one night more to
live. And as he thought of this, the day broke
Sunday.

It was not until the night of this last awful day,
that a withering sense of his helpless, desperate state
came in its full intensity upon his blighted soul ; not
that he had ever held any denned or positive hope. of

his head was bandaged with a linen cloth. His red
hair hung down upon his bloodless face ; his beard
was torn, and twisted into knots ; his eyes shone
with a terrible light; his unwashed flesh crackled
with the fever that burned him up. Eight nine
ten. If it was not a trick to frighten him, and those
were the real hours treading on each other's heels,
where would he be when they came round again !
Eleven! Another struck, before the voice of the
previous hour had ceased to vibrate. At eight, he
would be the only mourner in his own funeral train ;
at eleven

Those dreadful walls of Newgate, which have hid
den so much misery and such unspeakable anguish,
not only from the eyes, but, too often, and too long,
from the thoughts of men, never held so dread a

" I1E BAT DOWN ON A STOA'E BENCH OPPOSITE THE DOOK."

mercy, but that he had never been able to consider
more than the dim probability of dying so soon. He
had spoken little to either of the two men who re
lieved each other in their attendance upon him ; and
they, for their parts, made no effort to rouse his at
tention. He had sat there, awake, but dreaming.
Now, he started up every minute, and with gasping
mouth and burning skin hurried to and fro, in such
a paroxysm of fear and wrath that even they used
to such sights recoiled from him with horror. He
grew so terrible, at last, in all the tortures of his evil
conscience, that one man could not bear to sit there,
eying him, alone ; and so the two kept watch together.
He cowered down upon his stone bed, and thought
of the past. He had been wounded with some mis
siles from the crowd on the day of his capture, and

spectacle as that. The few who lingered as they
passed, and wondered what the man was doing who
was to be hanged to-morrow, would have slept but
ill that night if they could have seen him.

From early in the evening until nearly midnight
little groups of two and three presented themselves
at the lodge-gate, and inquired, with anxious faces,
whether any reprieve had been received. These be
ing answered in the negative, communicated the wel
come intelligence to clusters in the street, who point
ed out to one another the door from which he must
come out, and showed where the scaffold would be
built, and, walking with unwilling steps away, turn
ed back to conjure up the scene. By degrees they
fell off, one by one ; and for an hour, in the dead of
r.ight, the street was left to solitude and darkness.

CLOSING IX.

169

The space before the prison was cleared, and a
few strong barriers, painted black, had been already
thrown across the road to break the pressure of the
expected crowd, when Mr. Browulow and Oliver ap
peared at the wicket, and presented an order of ad
mission to the prisoner, signed by one of the sheriffs.
They were immediately admitted into the lodge.

" Is the young gentleman to come too, sir ?" said
the man whose duty it was to conduct them. " It's
not a sight for children, sir."'

" It is not, indeed, my friend," rejoined Mr. Brown-
low ; " but my business with this man is intimately
connected with him ; and as this child has seen him
in the full career of his success and villainy, I think
it as well even at the cost of some pain and fear
that he should see him now."

These few words had been said apart, so as to be
inaudible to Oliver. The man touched his hat, and
glancing at Oliver with some curiosity, opened an
other gate opposite to that by which they had en
tered, and led them on through dark and winding
ways toward the cells.

" This," said the man, stopping in a gloomy pas
sage where a couple of workmen were making some
preparations in profound silence " this is the place
he passes through. If you step this way, you can
see the door he goes out at."

He led them into a stone kitchen, fitted with cop
pers for dressing the prison food, and pointed to a
door. There was an open grating above it through
which came the sound of men's voices, mingled with
the noise of hammering and the throwing down of
boards. They were putting up the scaffold.

From this place they passed through several strong
gates, opened by other turnkeys from the inner side,
and, having entered an open yard, ascended a flight
of narrow steps and came into a passage with a row
of strong doors on the left hand. Motioning them to
remain where they were, the turnkey knocked at one
of these with his bunch of keys. The two attend
ants, after a little whispering, came out into the pas
sage, stretching themselves as if glad of the tempo
rary relief, and motioned the visitors to follow the
jailer into the cell. They did so.

The condemned criminal was seated on his bed,
rocking himself from side to side, with a countenance
more like that of a snared beast than the face of a
man. His mind was evidently wandering to his old
life, for he continued to mutter, without appearing
conscious of their presence, otherwise than as a part
of his vision :

"Good boy, Charley well done," he mumbled.
"Oliver too, ha! ha! ha! Oliver too quite the
gentleman now quite the take that boy away to
bed !"

The jailer took the disengaged hand of Oliver, and,
whispering him not to be alarmed, looked on with
out speaking.

" Take him away to bed !" cried Fagin. " Do you
hear me, some of you ? He has been the the some
how the cause of all this. It's worth the money to
bring him up to it Bolter's throat, Bill ; never mind
the girl Bolter's throat, as deep as you can cut.
Saw his head off !"

" Fagin," said the jailer.

" That's me !" cried the Jew, falling instantly into

the attitude of listening he had assumed upon hi*
trial. "An old man, my lord ; a very old, old man !"

" Here," said the turnkey, laying his hand upon
his breast to keep him down, "here's somebody wants
to see you, to ask you some questions, I suppose. Fa-
gin, Fagiu ! Are you a man ?"

" I sha'n't be one long," he replied, looking up
with a face retaining no human expression but rage
and terror. " Strike them all dead ! What right
have they to butcher me ?"

As he spoke he caught sight of Oliver and Mr.
Brownlow. Shrinking to the farthest corner of the
seat, he demanded to know what they wanted there.

" Steady," said the turnkey, still holding him
down. " Now, sir, tell him what you want. Quick,
if you please, for he grows worse as the time gets on."

" You have some papers," said Mr. Brownlow, ad
vancing, " which were placed in your hands, for bet
ter security, by a man called Monks."

" It's all a lie together," replied Fagin. " I haven't
one not one."

" For the love of God," said Mr. Brownlow, solemn
ly, " do not say that now, upon the very verge of
death ; but tell me where they are. You know that
Sikes is dead, that Monks has confessed, that there
is no hope of any further gain. Where are those
papers f "

" Oliver," cried Fagin, beckoning to him. " Here,
here ! Let me whisper to you."

" I am not afraid," said Oliver, in a low voice, as
he relinquished Mr. Brownlow's hand.

" The papers," said Fagin, drawing Oliver toward
him, " are in a canvas bag, in a hole a little way up
the chimney in the top front-room. I want to talk
to you, my dear. I want to talk to you."

" Yes, yes," returned Oliver. " Let me say a prayer.
Do! Let me say one prayer. Say only one upon
your knees with me, and we will talk till morning."

"Outside, outside," replied Fagin, pushing the boy
before him toward the door, and looking vacantly
over his head. " Say I've gone to sleep they'll be
lieve you. You can get me out, if you take me so.
Now then, now then !"

" Oh ! God forgive this wretched man !" cried the
boy, with a burst of tears.

" That's right, that's right," said Fagin. " That'll
help us on. This door first. If I shake and tremble
as we pass the gallows, don't you mind, but hurry
on. Now, now, now !"

" Have you nothing else to ask him, sir ?" inquired
the turnkey.

" No other question," replied Mr. Brownlow. " If
I hoped we could recall him to a sense of his posi
tion ;

" Nothing will do that, sir," replied the man, shak
ing his head. " You had better leave him."

The door of the cell opened, and the attendants
returned.

" Press on, press on !" cried Fagin. " Softly, but
not so slow. Faster, faster !"

The men laid hands upon him, and, disengaging
Oliver from his grasp, held him back. He- struggled
with the power of desperation for an instant ; and
then sent up cry upon cry that penetrated even those
massive walls, and rang in their ears until they
reached the open yard.

170

OLIVER TWIST.

*' It was some time before they left the prison. Ol
iver nearly swooned after this frightful scene, and
was so weak that for an hour or more he had not
the strength to walk.

Day was dawning when they again emerged. A
great multitude had already assembled; the win
dows were filled with people, smoking and playing
cards to beguile the time ; the crowd were pushing,
quarreling, joking. Every thing told of life and ani
mation but one dark cluster of objects in the centre
of all the black stage, the cross -beam, the rope,
aiid all the hideous apparatus of death.

CHAPTER LIII.

AND LAST.

THE fortunes of those who have figured in this
tale are nearly closed. The little that remains
to their historian to relate is told in few and simple
words.

Before three months had passed Rose Fleming and
Harry Maylie were married in the village chnrch
Which was henceforth to be the scene of the young
clergyman's labors ; on the same day they entered
into possession of their new and happy home.

Mrs. Maylie took up her abode with her son and
daughter-in-law, to enjoy, during the tranquil re
mainder of her days, the greatest felicity that age
and worth can know the contemplation of the hap
piness of those on whom the warmest affections and
teuderest cares of a well-spent life have been unceas
ingly bestowed.

It appeared, on full and careful investigation, that
if the wreck of property remaining in the custody
of Monks (which had never prospered either in his
hands or in those of his mother) were equally di
vided between himself and Oliver, it would yield to
each little more than three thousand pounds. By
the provisions of his father's will Oliver would have
been entitled to the whole ; but Mr. Brownlow, un
willing to deprive the eldest son of the opportunity
of retrieving his former vices and pursuing an honest
career, proposed this mode of distribution, to which
his young charge joyfully acceded.

Monks, still bearing that assumed name, retired
with his portion to a distant part of the New World,
where, having quickly squandered it, he once more
fell into his old courses, and, after undergoing a long
confinement for some fresh act of fraud and knavery,
at length sunk under an attack of his old disorder,
and died in prison. As far from home died the chief
remaining members of his friend Fagin's gang.

Mr. Brownlow adopted Oliver as his son. Remov
ing with him and the old housekeeper to within a
mile of the parsonage-house, where his dear friends
resided, he gratified the only remaining wish of Oli
ver's warm and earnest heart, and thus linked to
gether a little society whose condition approached
as nearly to one of perfect happiness as can ever be
known in this changing world.

Soon after the marriage of the young people the
worthy doctor returned to Chertsey, where, bereft of
the presence of his old friends, he would have been

discontented, if his temperament had admitted of
such a feeling, and would have turned quite peevish,
if he had known how. For two or three months he
contented himself with hinting that he feared the
air began to disagree with him ; then, finding that
the place really no longer was, to him, what it had
been, he settled his business on his assistant, took a
bachelor's cottage outside the village of which his
young friend was pastor, and instantaneously recov
ered. Here he took to gardening, planting, fishing,
carpentering, and various other pursuits of a similar
kind all undertaken with his characteristic im
petuosity. In each and all he has since become fa
mous throughout the neighborhood as a most pro
found authority.

Before his removal he had managed to contract a
strong friendship for Mr. Grimwig, which that eccen
tric gentleman cordially reciprocated. He is accord
ingly visited by Mr. Grimwig a great many times in
the course of the year. On all such occasions Mr.
Grimwig plants, fishes, and carpenters with great
ardor ; doing every thing in a very singular and un
precedented manner, but always maintaining, with
his favorite asseveration, that his mode is the right
one. On Sundays he never fails to criticise the ser
mon to the young clergyman's face, always inform
ing Mr. Losberne, in strict confidence, afterward, that
he considers it an excellent performance, but deems
it as well not to say so. It is a standing and very
favorite joke for Mr. Browulow to rally him on his
old prophecy concerning Oliver, and to remind him
of the night on which they sat with the watch be
tween them, waiting his return ; but Mr. Grimwig
contends that he was right in the main, and, in proof
thereof, remarks that Oliver did not come back after
all ; which always calls forth a laugh on his side, and
increases his good-humor.

Mr. Noah Claypole, receiving a free pardon from
the Crown in consequence of being admitted ap
prover against Fagin, and considering his profession
not altogether as safe an one as he could wish, was, for
some little time, at a loss for the means of a liveli
hood not burdened with too much work. After some
consideration, he went into business as an Informer,
in which calling he realizes a genteel subsistence.
His plan is, to walk out once a Aveek during church-
time, attended by Charlotte, in respectable attire.
The lady faints away at the doors of charitable pub
licans, and the gentleman being accommodated with
threepenny-worth of brandy to restore her, lays an
information next day, and pockets half the penalty.
Sometimes Mr. Claypole faints himself, but the result
is the same.

Mr. and Mrs. Bumble, deprived of their situations,
were gradually reduced to great indigence and mis
ery, and finally became paupers in that very same
work-house in which they had once lorded it over
others. Mr. Bumble has been heard to say that, in
this reverse and degradation, he has not even spir
its to be thankful for being separated from his
wife.

As to Mr. Giles and Brittles, they still remain in
their old posts, although the former is bald and the
last-named boy quite gray. They sleep at the par-
sonage, but divide their attentions so equally among
its inmates, and Oliver and Mr. Browulow, and Mr.

S UPPLEMEXTARY.

171

Losberne, that to this day the villagers have never
beeu able to discover to which establishment they
properly belong.

Master Charles Bates, appalled by Sikes's crime,
fell into a train of reflection whether an honest life
was not, after all, the best. Arriving at the conclu
sion that it certainly was, he turned his back upon
the scenes of the past, resolved to amend it in some
new sphere of action. He struggled hard, and suf
fered much, for some time, but, having a contented
disposition and a good purpose, succeeded in the
end ; and, from being a farmer's drudge, and a car
rier's lad, he is now the merriest young grazier in all
Northamptonshire.

And now the hand that traces these words falters,
as it approaches the conclusion of its task, and
would weave, for a little longer space, the thread of
these adventures.

I vrould fain liuger yet with a few of those among
whom I have so long moved, and share their hap
piness by endeavoring to depict it. I would show
fiose Maylie in all the bloom and grace of early
womanhood, shedding on her secluded path in life
soft and gentle light, that fell on all who trod it
with her, and shone into their hearts. I would paiut
her the life and joy of the fireside circle and the
lively summer group ; I would follow her through
the sultry fields at noon, and hear the low tones
of her sweet voice in the moonlit evening walk ; I
would watch her iu all her goodness and charity
abroad, and the smiling, untiring discharge of do
mestic duties at home; I would paint her and her
dead sister's child happy in their love for one anoth
er, and passing whole hours together in picturing
the friends whom they had so sadly lost ; I would

summon before me, once again, those joyous little
faces that clustered round her knee, and listen to
their merry prattle ; I would recall the tones of that
clear laugh, and conjure up the sympathizing tear
that glistened in the soft blue eye. These, and a
thousand looks and smiles, and turns of thought and
speech I would fain recall them every one.

How Mr. Browulow \veut on, from day to day, fill
ing the mind of his adopted child with stores of
knowledge, and becoming attached to him more and
more as his nature developed itself and showed the
thriving seeds of all he wished him to become how
he traced in him new traits of his early friend, that
awakened in his own bosom old remembrances, mel
ancholy and yet sweet and soothing how the two
orphans, tried by adversity, remembered its lessens
in mercy to others, and mutual love, and fervent
thanks to Him who had protected and preserved
them these are all matters which need not to be
told. I have said that they were truly happy ; and
without strong aifection and humanity of heart, and
gratitude to that Being whose code is Mercy, and
whose great attribute is Benevolence to all things
that breathe, happiness can never be attained.

Within the altar of the old village church there
stands a white marble tablet, which bears as yet
but one word " AGNES." There is no coffin in that
tomb ; and may it be many, many years, before an
other name is placed above it ! But if the spirits of
the Dead ever come back to earth to visit spots hal
lowed by the love the love beyond the grave of
those whom they knew in life, I believe that the
shade of Agnes sometimes hovers round that solemn
nook. I believe it none the less because that nook
is in a church, and she was weak and erring.

THE EXD.

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